Glass Shard Ghosts
by Bentleys and Bookshops
Summary: Stanley Pines has successfully faked his own death and taken on his brother's identity. When a former flame comes with condolences, he is returned to a time from his past, and confronted yet again with the problems of his present. Basically an AU I thought up where Stan and Carla McCorkle are reunited. Because I'm a sucker for this pairing. Rated T for mild language.
1. Skipped His Own Funeral

The newspaper read in big, bold letters: "STAN PINES DEAD". Stan Pines looked at the headline and grinned. He'd actually pulled it off; who'd have known that the biggest lie of his life would be his death? Stanley Pines was officially gone, and it was time for Stanford Pines to take his place. It's not like anyone would miss Stanley, anyway. Ex-Stanley-Now-Stanford leaned back against the counter and began to think about a funeral. He didn't really need one, did he? Nobody in Gravity Falls had known Stanley Pines, and he couldn't think of anywhere non-local to hold one, other than Glass Shard Beach. And Glass Shard Beach was a place he was never returning to. Besides, he didn't have the money. No, he decided, a funeral wasn't necessary. The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his train of thought. He jumped a little before picking up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Stanford, it's your mom. I have some bad news…" His mom sounded like she'd been crying. Stanley's heart felt like it was imploding. His mom's voice was one he hadn't heard in years. He suddenly couldn't remember how to talk. His mom took in a shaky breath on the other end of the line. "You might want to sit down, honey. Stanford?" Stanley forced himself to breathe again.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm—I'm sitting. Go on, ma." Did he sound enough like Ford? Geez, how did someone even sound like Ford? His mom seemed to buy it, however.

"Your brother…baby, Stanley's dead." He heard her let out a sob, and vaguely registered that his stomach felt like ice. He was aware that he should be saying something, but what should he say? What was the proper response from a grieving brother? He regained his wits and put up a heart wrenching performance into the phone.

"Oh." It was quiet, final. His mom was still crying. She managed to get some words out that Stanley could understand.

"—having a funeral, y-you should come s-say goodbye—" Stanley internally cursed like a sailor. He would love to see his mom again; hell, just a few months ago he would've done anything to be able to see him again. But even though he and Ford were identical twins, they had some physical differences. Stanley looked at his hands. "Two differences, in fact…" he thought miserably. He heard himself speak.

"I can't go." There was no emotion in his words. His mother was silent for a moment.

"I haven't even told you what day—"

"I just can't go, ma. I'm sorry." He stood there gripping the phone, white-knuckled, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He struggled to think of something else to say for a moment, before rushing out an "I love you." Then he hung up the phone. He continued to stand next to the phone, waiting for his grief-stricken mother to call back.

The phone didn't ring again that day.


	2. Visiting Her Dead Ex-Boyfriend

As soon as her car rolled into town, Carla felt as if she was thrown back in time. She felt her lips twitch upwards in the first time in days, and it admittedly felt pretty good to smile. Reaching over to the crank on the inside of her door, she rolled the window down and took in a breath of sea air coming in from the coast, separated from her only by a wall of shops and houses. She eased to a stop at a red light and instantly noticed she was next to her favorite ice cream parlor from when she was in high school. The smile on her face became wider. Maybe later, she could swing by there and get a sundae. Or she could go to the beach, take off her shoes, run in the sand, and let the waves engulf her up to her neck as if she weren't wearing a nice dress that didn't need to get wet. She could feel like she was five again and picnicking with her family, dark curls flying behind her as she chased seagulls and excitedly showed her parents seashells. She could go lose her cares in the ocean as soon as she was done with—

The smile left her face as she suddenly remembered why she was even in her home town in the first place. She tightened her grip on the wheel and swallowed past the sudden, growing lump in her throat, trying to will the aching feeling in her stomach to go away. It wasn't until the car behind her honked that she realized the light had turned green again, and she was expected to move on already. As she began driving again, she hauled in a shaky breath and began muttering to herself as she tended to do when she was under stress.

"C'mon, Carla, focus on happy things…focus on happy things…only happy things until you get there…" She began humming to herself, rather feebly, and pretended she was sixteen again.

The funeral was small, but definitely not cozy. All Carla could think was that, were this a movie, the entire town would've showed up in a heartwarming, final gesture. But this was reality, and nowhere near the entire town had been friends with Stanley. Carla got there about ten minutes before it started, and hung back near the door. She didn't think that Stanley's grieving parents would really want to see their dead son's ex-girlfriend. In her right hand, she held a bouquet of soft, pink flowers she had gotten on the way there, to put on the coffin; they were the same kind Stanley used to pick for her.

She tried to remain invisible. Mrs. Pines saw her anyway. She approached Carla, a handkerchief clutched tightly in her hand.

"Hey there...who are you, exactly?" Her hoarse voice, sharp with New Jersey accent, came from behind her handkerchief. That was one thing Carla liked about Mrs. Pines: she always got right to the point. Carla cleared her throat awkwardly and averted her eyes.

"It's, uh, it's me, Carla McCorkle. I dunno if you remember me, I was…I, uh, used to be Stanley's girlfriend, and, uh…" She trailed off, fists bunching the fabric of her dress at her sides, something she hadn't done since she was a kid. Mrs. Pines' eyes lit up in recognition.

"Oh, wow…you look different from when I last saw you."

Carla couldn't tell if she meant it negatively or positively. She acted as if it was definitely the latter.

"Yep, over a decade will do that to you…" She chuckled. Mrs. Pines gave a tight smile.

"Well, there are drinks in the foyer if you want any." She said in her thick, wavering voice. She then gave the younger woman an awkward nod and walked away. Carla let out a deep sigh of relief she hadn't known she'd been holding. She'd been so afraid of some nasty comment, some snide "Oh, yeah, you're that easy chick my son used to make out with in high school. Didn't you hit the road with him? What, did he knock you up or somethin'?" She had no idea why she was envisioning Stanley's mother talking like a high schooler in the 1960s, but nevertheless.

Carla crossed her arms in front of her and began milling about, trying to avoid talking to anyone. She spotted Mr. Filbrick Pines standing in one of the corners, also not talking to anyone. Carla immediately resolved to avoid him especially; he had scared her when she was a teenager, and he scared her now. Standing not too far from him was Shermie Pines, holding his son's hand. Carla could barely contain her surprise at how much the boy had grown; when she'd last seen Shermie's son, he had been an infant living with Stanley and Stanford, being raised by his grandparents while his dad worked his butt off in the hopes that he could become somebody for his unexpected child. The boy had to have been about twelve now, a conflicted look on his face; it struck Carla that there was no way he remembered his uncle, no way that he was grieving like his father or grandmother. She was seriously debating whether or not to go say hi, when Shermie made the decision for her.

"Carla? Carla McCorkle?"

Her heart jumped to her throat. "Sh-Shermie! Hi! Long time, no see, huh?"

The eldest Pines brother's lips twitched upwards in a half-smile as he walked over to her, leaving his quiet son with his wife. "Quite a while, yes. How, uh…how have you been doing?"

Carla put on what she hoped was a convincing fake smile. "I've been doing fine. How about you?"

She felt guilty for not absorbing anything that came out of his mouth in response. There was just something so blatantly boring about Shermie Pines that made you feel more brain-dead the longer you talked to him. Conversations with him usually involved the word "economy" used over-abundantly. She just smiled tightly and nodded like she always had back when she'd held conversations with him at the Pines's whenever he visited from college. She found herself scanning the room over his shoulder as he talked, and it suddenly hit her who she wasn't seeing: Stanford. Her eyebrows knit together in concern.

"Hey, Shermie…not to interrupt, sorry, but, where's Ford?"

A look of awkward tension crossed Shermie's face. "Oh, uh…he's not coming to the funeral. Ma called him and everything, but…yeah, he's not coming."

"What?! Is he…is he unable to, or…?"

"Dunno…he just told mom he wasn't coming and then hung up."

Carla's jaw dropped; she knew about the rift between Stanley and Stanford, of course she did, but…not coming to your own brother's funeral? Not coming to your own _twin's_ funeral? Hopefully there wasn't anything terribly wrong…besides his brother being dead, of course. Maybe he just couldn't handle it emotionally. Carla suddenly felt intense empathy for Ford; after all, she'd known him in high school, and the two had been good friends. And now he was having to deal with his brother being dead, presumably alone.

"Where is Ford nowadays, Shermie?"

"He lives up in Oregon in this little town called Gravity Falls. He's a scientist of some sort. I'm not really sure what kind…he doesn't really keep in touch that much. Not at all, lately."

Huh. Oregon. That was definitely of change of scenery. It was also about a two day's drive away from where she currently was, and she had a week of no plans ahead of her.

She missed her friend. She missed his dorky laugh and big words and nice, genuine talks. And she really needed someone to talk to who might understand her loss a little better, who had known Stanley more like she had. True, he'd let his brother get kicked out of the house all those years ago, but she was willing to put that aside for now. 'Besides,' she thought, feeling a familiar knot of guilt beginning to form in her stomach, 'he's not the only one out of the two of us to abandon Stanley.'

She'd had the courage to go back to her hometown, to go to the funeral, to face these people whom she hadn't seen in years in order to say goodbye. She might as well see Ford again while she was high on courage.

Man, she really hadn't expected this whole closure thing to be a two-part ordeal.


	3. Stan Pines is Busted

Stanley's phone still hadn't rung two weeks later. He wasn't complaining, of course; he'd been dreading receiving another call from the family. It still left him feeling kinda…empty, though: knowing they didn't care enough to call back. Or, did it mean they didn't care enough about _Ford_ to call back? Eh, it didn't really matter at this point.

Keeping himself busy wasn't hard, what with it being tourist season and all. With a steady stream of people coming and going that warm June day, he toyed with the idea of replacing the front door with a revolving one, before considering the plague of mosquitos that descended upon the town like a punishment from God during the summer. This was his first summer here, and it was still early on, but he'd heard enough horror stories.

It was late afternoon. Stanley was taking a much-deserved break from a full day of giving tours and lying through his teeth for profit. Leaning against the counter, sipping from a bottle of Pitt Cola, he had a perfect view of the front lawn, and he'd been peacefully watching a squirrel scurry its way up a tree. He perked up, however, when saw a baby blue car pulling up outside. He adjusted his tie and fez, preparing to ham it up. When he saw the person getting out of the car, however, he froze.

She looked different, of course. Nearly a decade will do that to you. But it was unmistakably her. She didn't seem her usual energetic self, lacking that spring in her step, but she had the same long, dark hair, and the same kind, brown eyes. He recognized her eyes because they'd locked onto his, right after she'd finished locking her car door. With zero grace, Stan ducked out of view of the window, knocking a few things off the counter in the process. He scurried behind the counter, panicking, trying to gather his thoughts.

 _Why is Carla here?! Why the hell is Carla McCorkle here?! How'd she know where to find me?! Why did she want to find me?! She said she never wanted to see me again!_

He could hear her shoes click-clacking on the porch.

 _Oh god, oh god, oh GOD-_

The shop's bell let out a pleasant ring, and Stanley heard Carla's voice for the first time in years.

"Hello? The, uh, the sign says 'open', so I figured…I-I could come back later, if this is a bad time. If you can even hear me. I could've sworn I saw somebody, but for all I know, I could be talking into an empty shop."

 _I could just hide here and stay invisible. She doesn't have to know I'm here!_ As he thought this, he moved his elbow ever so slightly and accidentally knocked a "Murder Hut Mystery Box" off its shelf, sending it clattering loudly onto the floor. Cringing, Stanley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. He popped up from behind the counter like a jack-in-the-box.

"Welcome to the Murder Hut, valued customer! Can I interest you in some reasonably-priced knick knacks?"

Carla started at his sudden appearance, eyes wide, clutching her bag.

"Holy cow!" She looked him up and down before smiling slightly. "Hey! I-It's me, Carla McCorkle!"

He was so, so tempted to respond 'who?', but he knew it would be a bit of a stretch to act like he didn't remember her. She'd start trying to jog his memory, and the whole act would fall apart.

"Carla, what…what are you even doing here? Th-This is just sorta…unexpected, I mean…"

Her face fell ever so slightly, and he felt this weird tug in his gut that felt like it belonged to someone else.

"I'm sorry, I should've called first or something, I just, um, I came to…I-I just came to see you again, and give condolences for, uh." She cleared her throat and refused to look at him. "For Stanley."

 _She thinks I'm Ford. Of course she thinks I'm Ford! Stanley Pines is legally dead! …I'm not sure if this makes the situation better or worse._

"Oh. So, you heard about that." He'd made the conscious decision to make his voice sound more like Ford's. He did a pretty good Ford impression, if he did say so himself.

"Yeah, my parents still live in Glass Shard, y'know, so they heard about it, and my mom told me on the phone, and…yeah." She cleared her throat again awkwardly. "You weren't at the funeral, so—"

"You went to the funeral?" Stanley's heart leapt against his will. Carla had cared enough to go to his funeral. Granted, he wasn't actually dead, but the sentiment was the same.

Carla looked a little embarrassed. "Well, yeah, I thought…I thought it was only right, considering…" She trailed off, then finally looked him in the eyes. "I'm sure this is hard for you, Ford…you two used to be so close…" She purposefully left out the fact that the last time Stanley and Ford had seen each other had been when Stanley had gotten kicked out onto the streets. "If you need anyone to talk to, you can talk to me."

Stan remained silent, not knowing for the life of him what to say. It was funny, really: He'd imagined what he would say to her if they ever met again a million times, and here she was in front of him, and his tongue was tied. She looked so miserable, though, he just had to say _something._

"That, uh, that's real sweet of you, Carla."

She gave him a tight smile for his efforts. "Is it alright if I hang around a little longer?"

 _She's gonna know something's up if she stays here much longer._

"Sure thing, Carla."

She began to wander around the shop. "Real interesting place you got here, Ford. I thought you were a scientist?"

"W-Well, y'know, I figured I might as well showcase my findings."

"Uh-huh. Findings like the—" She raised her eyebrow at a particular display. "—Sascrotch?"

"Hey, I'll have you know I found that beast in the forest not one week ago!"

She stared at him amusedly.

"…or at least that's what I tell the tourists."

She let out a small laugh, and he laughed with her.

"I never took you for the…swindle-y type, Ford."

"Well, you know, people change. A lot."

"Ain't that the truth."

The two stared at each other, and the smile slid off Carla's face. "Look, Ford, I…I want to apologize."

"Apologize?" _Why the hell would she be apologizing to Ford? If anything, she should be apologizing to me! …Well, I guess she is, but she doesn't know that!_ He felt unbidden anger flare in his chest.

"I wanted to apologize for us parting on not-the-best terms. I really, really hated losing you as a friend. It's something I've wanted to apologize for for a while, but I never worked up the courage 'til now. I just…your brother had gotten kicked out, and I wasn't about to let him go alone! I was young and in love and stupid and-"

"Oh, so going with him was stupid?" A sudden venom had crept into his voice without him meaning for it to.

"Wait, no, I didn't mean—"

"Was it something you regretted, or somethin'?"

"I wouldn't say _regretted_ , more like—"

"Was bein' his girlfriend something you regretted?"

"Hell no!"

"Because from what I understand, it wasn't too hard for you to dump his ass in the dirt and run off without givin' him a second thought!"

" _Ford!"_ She looked shocked, her eyes full of tears. There was a moment of silence in which she tried to pull herself together. "H-How did you even know about…?"

 _Crap, crap, don't blow your cover, genius._ "Stanley called me and told me. He got pretty low after you left, low enough to call."

Carla closed her eyes and swallowed thickly. "Funny, I tried to get him to call you a million times while we were together. Who would've known me leaving would be the thing to…?" She shook her head. "Look. The point is that what you said isn't true. It wasn't easy to break up with Stanley! Ending a relationship is never easy! And I thought about him after I left, how could I not? We were together for years!" The tears welled in her eyes began to spill out onto her cheeks. "A-And I don't wanna dig this up, but I've been pretty generous not mentioning you letting him get kicked out when we were all teenagers! He told me you didn't even try to stick up for him!"

 _Yelling at the wrong person, sweetie._

She was shaking slightly, sobs beginning to wrack her body. "I-I know this is hard for you, i-it's gotta be, no matter how mad you were at him, b-because I know how much you two loved each other as kids, but this is hard as hell for me, too! Do you not think I feel guilty? Do you not think maybe this could be _my_ fault?!"

"Woah, hey, him dying wasn't—"

"How do you know?! You said he got low enough to call you, who's to say he didn't—" She stopped, closing her eyes tightly, letting a huge sob overtake her. "He was the first person I ever fell in love with, Ford. I loved him bad. Felt it in my soul."

Stan could feel his heart twisting in his chest, and it felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He walked out from behind the counter. "H-Hey, hey, Carla, c'mon…" He took her hands in his gently, running his thumb along the back of her hand. "I'm sorry for snappin' at you, I know you're grieving."

Carla sniffled. "So are you, I shouldn't have gotten angry…"

"It's okay, I started it."

She was sniffling and swinging their hands between them slightly, like a child. "It's just…there were times I missed him a lot, y'know? And I miss him so, so much now, I'd do anything to apologize to him, tell him that I really did love him when we were dating, that I meant everything I said, that I…"

She stopped swinging their hands between the two of them.

Slowly, she brought Stan's right hand in front of her face and pressed her palm flat against his. And just stared.

"Ford." Her face was unreadable, her voice flat with disbelief. "Did you lose a finger since I last saw you?"

Stan's eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a goldfish.

"I, uh, y'see, the funny thing about that, is, uh…" He sighed. "Crap."


	4. A Lot To Take In

Carla McCorkle had never felt such a strong rush of emotions in her life.

Her head felt like it was spinning. Her lungs were screaming for air, though she was fairly sure she was breathing. She was angry as hell and scared out of her mind and suddenly the whole world had gone off its hinges. Everything was quiet, save for the pounding of her heart, and she didn't even hear Stanley's half-assed fumble for an excuse at first. All she could really process was that her dead ex-boyfriend was standing in front of her with that stupid apologetic look on his face, and there was a scream bubbling in her chest. She inhaled sharply to let it out, and Stanley slapped his hand over her mouth.

"No, no, don't do that! Listen, I know this looks real bad, but I promise you it's not what it looks like."

Carla, never having liked being silenced, especially by force, bit his hand as hard as she could. He yelped and drew it away, shaking it. She took a few horrified steps away from him, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"I'm giving you one minute to explain before I call the police."

"What?! Police?! One minute?! That's not fair!"

"Fifty-five seconds."

"Okay okay, look, it's a really long story that I can't possibly fit in a minute, but you gotta trust me, Carla, I—"

"If you're alive, where's Ford?"

"There was this, uh…accident, and, uh—"

"Oh my god."

"I didn't do anything!"

"You're pretending to be him! Do you know how bad that looks?!"

"I, uh…"

"It makes it seem like you killed your brother and took his name!"

Carla was beginning to panic again. "Stanley, please, please tell me you didn't—"

"I would never kill my brother!"

"THEN WHERE IS HE?!"

"I WISH I KNEW!"

The shop's bell let out a pleasant ring, and a frizzy-haired woman with large glasses walked in. She took a step back when she regarded Stanley, looking desperate and red in the face, and Carla, with her wild-looking eyes puffy from crying. "I'll, uh…I'll leave you two to…whatever this is…" And she backed out.

The interruption caused both Stanley and Carla to cool down slightly. Stanley walked over to the door and turned the sign from 'open' to 'closed'.

"Carla, please, just…let me show you somethin', okay? I ain't gonna force you. You don't have to stay. You can…you can run out that door if you want, and call the cops, but I'm begging ya. Please." He held his hand out, giving her a small smile. Then his smile faltered. "Actually, I-I take that back, please don't call the cops. I'd appreciate if you didn't call the cops, even if you do choose to not hear me out."

Carla felt a rush of affection, against her will. She was still confused. And angry. And terrified. But at the same time…this was _Stanley._ This was the boy who used to bring her flowers when she was feeling down, and even if they were just weeds he'd pulled out of the ground on the way home, they were beautiful to her. The boy who would sing to her so off-key that she was sure some poor dog nearby was scratching at its ear in pain, but he was trying, and that's what mattered. The boy she used to love so much she'd be willing to put everything on the line for him. And he'd loved her just as much in return. She let out a shaky breath, and slowly took a step towards him.

"Fine. Let's go." She eyed his outstretched hand. "I'm not holding your hand, though."

Stanley quickly put his hand back by his side. "Right. Uh. C'mon, then."

If Carla hadn't thought Stanley had lost his marbles before, she certainly did when he started punching numbers into the shop's vending machine.

When the machine slid open, she began to debate whether or not _she'd_ lost her marbles, too.

The vending machine secret entrance was nothing, however, in comparison to the giant portal.

"There is _nothing_ about this I understand."

"From what I can gather from Ford's writing, it's some sort of…portal to another dimension. He and some other guy built it to 'enlighten mankind' or some crap like that."

"What other guy?"

"God, I wish I knew. He might be able to help. But Ford just calls him "F" in his journal."

"So…how did he disappear into this?"

Stanley's expression instantly hardened, and Carla's heart dropped. _Oh god, do I really want to know? …yes, I really want to know_. "Stanley?"

"He…that accident I mentioned earlier, uh…"

"Oh, Jesus…did he fall in?"

Stanley stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his face full of conflicting emotions. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"Yeah. The thing sucked him in."

He looked so…broken. Carla could feel that familiar ache in her chest for him that she'd felt so many times before. If she wasn't still so furious with him for faking his death, she'd reach out to comfort him. She held herself back, though, just as she'd held herself back from slapping him earlier.

"Stanley, I…I'm really sorry. That's…really not something you hear every day, but it's awful." It was funny, really; she'd come to comfort Stanford over the loss of Stanley, and here she was comforting Stanley for the loss of Stanford. Life was funny that way.

"So you believe me?" God, he sounded so hopeful.

"Well, I am staring at a giant portal three levels under your house, so…"

"Carla, Christ, I can't thank you enough for believing m—"

"Hey, don't thank me yet, buster. You're still not off the hook for faking a tragic, flaming car accident."

"Woah, hey, that was—"

"Could you explain your faked death to me upstairs? I don't really like being this far underground."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

"Thank you."

The entire elevator ride back up, Carla kept side-eying Stanley.

He'd definitely changed, but of course, almost ten years will do that to you. He was wearing more layers than she was used to seeing him in, and the mullet was…interesting. Not bad, just…interesting. She kinda wanted to braid it. _Can you braid mullets? Is that a thing you can do?_

The elevator _ding_ ed open, interrupting her train of thought. As they exited and began their ascent up the stairs, she sighed.

"So, it was absolutely necessary to fake your death because…?"

"Look, Stanley Pines was banned in over half of the U.S.'s states, had several various gangs out for his head, and had the cops on his tail most of the time. It would've only been a matter of time before something caught up to me. I mean, you caught up to me, didn't you?"

Carla felt her lips quirk upwards again. He had a point there.

"Besides," he continued. "Stanford Pines is the one who signed the deed to this house, not Stanley Pines."

He swung the vending machine open, and they stepped back out into the shop, into daylight. Carla sighed and brushed her hands down her skirt, a nervous habit she'd never quite gotten rid of.

"This is a really complicated situation."

"You're telling me." He said it in a griping tone, but Carla could read on his face that he was still just so relieved to have someone know the truth and not run away. More importantly, not call the police. He also looked a little anxious, like he wanted to say something.

"Something on your mind, Stan?"

"I, uh…I just wanted to ask if, uh, if you're still with that Thistle guy."

Carla's stomach twisted sharply and uncomfortably.

"We actually split up not too long ago."

"Oh. You end it, or…?"

"You could say that, yeah. I got sick of the lifestyle, y'know? It was a bit too much, even for me, the free love, the drugs—"

"Holy crap, you were doing drugs?!"

Carla smiled sheepishly. "Just a little Mary Jane here and there, nothing life-ruining. What, you think I've been smoking meth in the ladies' room since we split up?"

"I dunno, I just—whatever."

"I just…it was fun. For a while. Then one night, I sorta felt like I woke up. Like I'd been only half awake that whole time and it was time to wake up and hit the road. So, I did."

Stanley sniffed and nodded. "So. Is that how it was with me?"

Carla felt like the floor had fallen out beneath her suddenly. "…what?"

"Did you 'wake up' one day and say 'Huh. I just realized I _don't_ love Stan!'" That growing anger was back in his voice.

"Stanley, c'mon, do we really have to—"

"Carla, you up and left me right outta the blue! You barely even gave me any warning!"

"I gave you _plenty_ of warning, Stanley Filbrick Pines." After all these years, Carla still couldn't believe that Mr. and Mrs. Pines had given both their twin sons the middle name "Filbrick". Sure, it was their old man's name, but you'd think their parents would've varied it at least a little.

"No, you didn't give me any warning! We had one blow-up fight that we were on our way to fixing, then you up and left! How the hell is that fair?!"

"It was my decision, you should respect it!"

"Was it your decision? Was it _really_?"

"Stan, if you try to tell me that Thistle hypnotized me one more time, I swear to _God_ -"

"I'm just sayin', that 'dimensional healing' crap was pretty suspicious."

"He's a hippie! What do you expect?!"

Sure, his music had been beautiful. Enchanting, even. It was nothing like anything she'd ever heard, and it swept her off her feet. And he'd been so kind to her every time he came to the Juke Joint to perform while she was working there. Her falling for him wasn't hypnosis! Hypnosis was not a thing that happened to people! Okay, maybe in stage shows for short amounts of time, but not actual magic-y hypnosis in real life.

Stanley sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. Whatever. Let's just say for now that he didn't force you or manipulate you into leaving—"

"Because he _didn't_ —"

"—if you really wanted an out from our relationship, why did you stick around so long?"

The flood of emotions that swept through her wasn't pretty, nor was it easy to figure out. She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling as countless memories of their good times together flew through her mind like a slideshow on speed.

"Because I thought we could make it work. I kept—"

"We _could_ make it work."

"Let me finish. I kept telling myself that we would both get better jobs soon, that we would stumble across opportunity, that we would be able to buy a house instead of rent crappy apartment after apartment, that we wouldn't have to worry about where our next meal was coming from in the near future. I kept telling myself that, and working so hard to make it true, but…God, I was so tired, Stanley. So tired of that life."

Stanley looked heartbroken. She couldn't blame him. He looked imploringly at her with his dark, coffee-brown eyes.

"Tired of me?"

Carla felt a stab of guilt and regret pierce her heart. She looked up at this man, this scrappy, funny, loving man who punched the teeth out of a mugger for her, before he even knew her. The dorky teenager she'd fallen in love with, who was now a man with so much behind him and so much ahead of him, and she felt herself melt like she had when she was fifteen.

An hour ago, he'd been dead. And here he was, standing in front of her, waiting sadly for an answer, and…God, she could never be tired of him. Her mouth moved without her mind telling it to.

"God, Stanley, _never_."

Then, allowing herself to act impulsively for the first time in ages, she grabbed him by the front of the shirt and kissed him hard, aware she was sending mixed messages, but not really caring in the heat of the moment, because she _wanted this._

Behind her closed eyelids, she saw stars.


	5. Morning Intruder

For a moment, Stan Pines felt like the luckiest man in the world. Then again, he'd always felt like the luckiest man in the world with her, even on the rare occasions that she was getting on his last nerve. But there, standing in the middle of the shop with her kissing him like it was the last time she'd ever kiss anyone, it couldn't be any more perfect. When Carla pulled away, she raised her hand to her mouth and gently put her fingers to her lips.

"I'm so sorry, Stanley, I dunno what I was thinking, I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, it's fine, you don't have to—"

"—I just felt this urge, a-and I just kinda went for it, so sorry—"

"—please don't apologize for kissin' me, wasn't any skin off my nose—"

"—I totally understand that I'm sending mixed signals, and that's not oka—"

"Carla?"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"I think I'd like that."

And they were kissing again, pent-up longing from years of being separated coming forth, and it felt to Stanley as if nothing in the universe could tear him away from her in that little pocket of time that held them. Her arms came up to wrap around him, and he placed his hands on her waist. His hands were big and callused and strong from years of boxing, and he always felt like they'd break her if he wasn't careful; but Carla McCorkle was not made of glass, and she was not easily broken. He lifted her with ease, and she wrapped her legs around his middle. He spun them around once, and she giggled against his mouth, actually giggled, and he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. He put her back down and pulled away from her, though it felt like the wind had been taken out of his sails when he did so. Carla let out another breathless laugh as she looked up at him.

"That was nice."

"You really think so?"

"Mm-hmm. You definitely didn't lose any kissing skills since I last saw you."

"Heh. Good to know."

Another silence descended upon them, though this one was significantly warmer than the one before.

"Carla, how long are you stayin' in Gravity Falls?"

"Oh, I was originally just planning to stay overnight in a motel…"

"But?" Stanley smirked at her teasingly.

"W-Well, if anyone would insist I stay longer, I don't think I'd object…"

"How about you spend the night here?" Stan had no idea where this sudden boldness was coming from, but he was proud of himself. She looked like she was proud of him, too.

"…alright. Only if it's not too much trouble."

"Nah, it won't be! I've got a guest room you can stay in and everything!"

"That sounds great! As long as there's a bed, I'll sleep pretty much anywhere you put me." The usual sunny playfulness that Stanley had grown to love so much had returned to Carla's voice, and Stan felt warmth bloom in his chest.

"A-Awesome! So you'll sleep in the guest room?"

"Yeah!"

She didn't sleep in the guest room that night.

Stanley woke up to the sound of an obnoxiously loud bird outside his window. Groaning, he blinked against the morning sun's blinding rays, and stretched.

He'd had the strangest dream the night before. His subconscious had actually tried to trick him into believing Carla had come back to him! As if that would ever—

He turned to look at his bedside clock and froze. Carla was fast asleep next to him, a peaceful smile on her face. Stan sat up like a soldier being called to attention and stared down at her, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Holy Moses."

As Stan was a loud talker, and Carla was a light sleeper, she stirred awake at his hushed exclamation of wonder.

"Mm…? Whassat?" Carla murmured like a child being awoken from a nap and blinked the sleep from her eyes. When she saw Stanley, she froze as quickly as he had.

"Holy Moses, that wasn't a dream."

"That's exactly what I said! Well, I thought it, anyway."

Carla let out a small laugh, the visible tension leaving her shoulders. With a still-sleepy sigh, she sat up and stretched, letting the blankets slide off of her. Stan noted that she fully clothed. _Okay, we didn't do anything too crazy last night_.

Carla swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose to her feet.

"I'm gonna go get somethin' to drink. You want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Mmkay, if you're sure." She shot him a sweet half-smile and walked out of the room. A few minutes later, Stanley heard a blood-curdling shriek come from the kitchen. Instantly, he threw himself out of bed and bolted from the room. Well, not before running into the doorframe.

When ran into the kitchen, practically sliding in his socks, he was greeted with quite the scene. Carla was standing precariously on the kitchen table, wielding a chair over her head. There were objects, some shattered, all over the floor, obviously thrown. Stanley looked at Carla with wide eyes.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"TINY MAN! TINY LITTLE MAN!"

"What?!"

Carla pointed frantically to the far side of the kitchen. A tiny bearded man in a pointed red hat was trying to scramble up the wall to get out the window, a jam jar in his mouth. Stan groaned.

"Great, you guys again…"

The gnome stopped his attempted escape when he spotted Stan, and pointed accusingly at him.

"Stanford! You know what you did!"

"For the last time, I've never seen any of you guys in my entire life! Well, I mean, I have _recently_ , but I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Don't make me laugh, Ford!"

"You got the wrong guy, buddy."

"You look exactly like him!"

"You ever heard of identical twins, jackass?"

"Oh, the classic 'evil twin' excuse! You won't deter us, Pines! We'll just keep coming! The gnome army will not be-!"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because Carla threw the chair at him. It broke against the wall right above him, and he squealed as the pieces rained down on and around him. This time, he was able to make it through the window, screaming angrily the whole way.

"AND TELL YOUR CRAZY GIRLFRIEND TO COOL IT WITH THE FLYING OBJECTS!"

His voice faded, and Carla stood on the table panting and staring at Stanley.

"What—I don't—"

"Gnomes."

"Oh, okay, that explains it." She continued to look at him expectantly.

"Look, Carla, the—the portal under my—Ford's house isn't the only weird thing about this town. This town…this town is really weird. I don't understand it. I don't know if I ever will. But the one thing I know about it is that it's dangerous."

"D-Dangerous? Dangerous how?"

"You remember those journals I told you about?"

"Of course."

"I've been looking everywhere for the other two, and while doing that, I've come across stuff I wouldn't believe if I didn't see it. Those little gnome twerps have come here about a dozen times, stealing my food and threatening me. But they ain't the scary ones. These freaks in the woods, these—these _monsters_ are all over this town, and most of 'em think I'm Ford! Which makes it _way_ worse! I dunno what the hell he was thinking, running around pissing off monsters, but I'm the one payin' for it, lemme tell ya."

He'd expected Carla to look horrified, but she looked much more…enraptured with what he had to say. He raised an eyebrow.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I just…you're telling me this town is magical?"

"…yeah, I-I guess so."

"Stanley, that's—" She moved her foot, and the table tipped, throwing her off. Stan lunged forward and caught her.

"Woah there!"

"Sorry! Like I was saying, that's amazing! I mean, the portal thing is crazy advanced science, but… _magic_?"

Stanley raised his eyebrows. "Thought you didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"Stan, I just watched a talking garden ornament steal your jam. My horizons have been broadened a little in the last ten minutes."

Stan shrugged. "Fair enough."

Carla looked at the ruins of the chair she'd thrown for the first time.

"Ooh…I'll pay for your chair."

"Aw, you don't have to—thanks."

Carla let out a tiny, near-hysterical laugh. She still had a hand on Stanley's arm from when he caught her. There was a moment of silence.

"Do you think…do you think we could go exploring?"

"What?"

"Exploring! The magical town!"

"Carla, are you crazy! I just told you it was dangerous!"

"I've been wanting to go walk in the woods since I got here, anyway! And now you're telling me that the woods are magic! Besides, we can bring weapons!

"It's still dangerous!"

"I thought danger was your middle name."

"Unfortunately, it's Filbrick."

Carla lightly punched him on the arm.

"C'mon, I wanna see something else incredible before I leave!"

Stan's face fell.

"You're still leaving?"

Carla's face fell, too.

"Oh, I-I figured…I mean, I don't really have any solid plans worked out, and it would be kind of crazy to make a decision like that overnight out of nowhere…"

"That's never stopped you before."

She shot him a look.

"Right. Sorry. I'll shut up now."

"Thanks."

Awkward silence filled the kitchen.

"…so…"

"Carla, no…"

"If you won't go exploring with me, I'll go alone!"

"You're gonna get eaten by something."

"I'll take a gun! You got a gun I could borrow?"

"Well yeah, but—"

"Then I should be fine! But y'know, I'd be even more fine if I had someone more experienced with this town go with me…"

Stan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Fine. I'll take you on a magic freakin' fairy hunt or whatever. Just promise me that you will stick with me so I can help when the fairies try to viciously kill you."

"Of course I'll stick with you, I don't have a death wish. I respect the buddy system."

Stan chuckled. "Alright. But, uh, we should probably get dressed first."

Carla looked down at the pink polka dot pajamas she'd retrieved last night from her luggage in the car.

"That's…probably a good idea, yeah."


	6. This Dangerous Forest

It wasn't just a hot day, it was a _muggy_ day. The air felt like a stagnant shower. The humidity made Carla's hair poof up, but she honestly couldn't care less.

"It's so funny; even if you hadn't told me Ford wrote this, I would be able to tell."

She was flipping through the journal as she walked, and Stanley walked nearby, staring anxiously at it.

"Heh. That's what I thought when I read it, too. Please—Please be careful with it. I need it to work on the portal."

Carla felt a stab of empathy in her chest. "Of course, Stanley. I'll guard this thing with my life, don't worry."

"Please guard your life with your…life, too." He said, glancing around at the forest surrounding them. He'd had restless shifty eyes from the moment they'd stepped past the tree line.

"That didn't make any sense."

"You know what I meant. A naked, hairy baby-looking thing jumped out of a tree onto my face while I was walking through these woods one time."

"Woah! How'd you fight it off?"

"I threw the candy from my pockets at it and ran while it was distracted."

"Ah, clever boy. I knew I brought you along for a reason."

"You should still watch out, though. Never know when a naked hair baby monster will attack your face."

"Yeah, yeah…never thought I'd hear you to be the one stressing safety measures out of the two of us."

"Hey, you were never incredibly cautious, either."

This was true. Both of them were pretty reckless, and it was somewhat of a problem. The only thing balancing factor was the role both of them played in reeling the other in when things went too far. Carla could still remember the time she'd more or less talked Stanley down from homicide. Too bad she hadn't been there to talk him down from driving Thistle's van off a cliff.

She'd thought he'd been dead then, too. Thistle had had to try to calm her down while she sobbed hysterically. He'd failed miserably, but she'd appreciated the effort later. When she'd found out Stanley wasn't dead, the relief that had flooded her had been intense. She'd wanted to go to him then, to check on him, to slap him, to do _something_ , but then Thistle had put his hand on her shoulder and…it all went a bit blurry after that. She didn't remember what went through her head then, but she did remember calling him later, curtly informing him that she never wanted to see him again. Looking back on it now, the memory made her stomach turn with guilt. She knew it was forever ago, but her words seemed so harsh now.

"Hey, you okay? You look like you're thinkin' about something heavy."

"Hm? Oh, I'm okay." She mentally shook herself and got back to flipping through the journal. She stopped at a particular page. "Is this…is this a unicorn?"

Stan leaned over to look at the page. "Uh…yeah, pretty sure it is."

"Have you seen one of these?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Nah, haven't seen a unicorn…why would I want to?" He asked scornfully.

"No need to be such a grump." She flipped to another page and raised her eyebrows. "'Floating cliffs'?"

Stanley shrugged. "Wanna bet Ford was on drugs when he wrote some of this?"

"Nah, Ford's too much of a square."

"Yeah, that's true."

They both chuckled, but there was an underlying discomfort. Poking fun at Ford felt like making fun of a dead man.

They'd come up to a lake, and Carla looked up from the journal to admire the water. "Can we sit by the lake for a minute?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

They sat in silence, staring pensively at the sunlight reflecting off the surface.

"It's beautiful out here." Carla finally murmured.

"Mm. I'll say."

There was another moment of peaceful silence. Then Stanley cleared his throat.

"I need to take a piss."

"Thanks for sharing. And here I thought we were having a moment."

"I'm just sayin'! That's what I'm going to go do!" Stanley said defensively as he rose to his feet.

"Why didn't you go before we left the house?"

"I didn't need to go then."

Carla smiled and rolled her eyes. "I swear you're five."

Stanley blew her a raspberry. "Be right back. Stay by the lake, okay? Don't talk to any monsters."

"Yes, _Dad._ "

Stan looked nervous. "You sure you're okay here alone?"

"Hey, you're the five year old, not me."

"Carla, I'm bein' serious for once. Swear you won't get kidnapped or eaten or—or used for—"

"Stanley, I'll be _fine._ Honest."

"Alright…see you in a minute."

"See you then." Carla said reassuringly. As Stan disappeared back into the forest, she leaned back on her hands and got back to staring at the lake.

It really was beautiful here.

And the townspeople, from what she'd seen, were so _nice_ ; maybe not incredibly bright, but nice nonetheless.

And it wasn't a totally absurd idea to get her things from her apartment over in New Jersey and move them up—

She let out a frustrated sigh and flopped down onto her back. Her and Stanley's exchange from that morning echoed in her mind.

"— _it would be kind of crazy to make a decision like that overnight out of nowhere…_ "

" _That's never stopped you before."_

She sighed again and flung her arm over her eyes. Because of course she knew exactly what he'd been referring to.

May 7, 1968. The morning Stan had left Glass Shard Beach, and she'd gone with him.

Technically it'd started on April 13, 1968, because that had been when Stanley had been thrown out onto the streets.

She could still remember that night vividly.

The car seat had been scratchy against her legs.

Night air had been rushing in through the open car window.

Stanley's shoulders had been shaking with sobs, his tears beginning to fall hot and fast.

 _"Stanley. Stanley, baby, pull over, let me drive. Sweetheart, you can't drive while you're crying, c'mon. Baby, please."_

 _The car turned sharply and Stanley slammed on the brakes, skidding a little as they parked. They were at the beach._

 _With the car stopped and no risk of crashing, Stanley hung his head and began to openly cry. Carla felt her heart drop._

 _"Stanley...baby, what's wrong?"_

 _"I s-screwed up…I screwed up real b-bad this time…oh God…"_

 _"What happened, honey?" She was rubbing his shoulder gently, cooing softly and comfortingly without realizing it._

 _"I…Dad…my dad kicked me out…"_

 _Her eyes became wide as saucers._

 _"You can't be serious."_

 _"S-Serious as a h-heart attack…"_

 _He collapsed into sobs once more, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to whiten his knuckles. Carla unbuckled her seatbelt, reached over, guided his head to her shoulder, and began combing her fingers through his unkempt hair._

 _"Shh, shh, baby…"_

 _"H-How could this happen? H-How the hell could I do this?"_

 _"Do what?"_

 _"I-I messed up Ford's future…"_

 _"How on Earth could you say—"_

 _"I wrecked his science project."_

 _Carla froze. He sniffled and hid his face in the crook of her neck, shaking slightly._

 _"I-It was an accident, I swear to God, Carla, I never meant to…you have to b-believe me, I d-didn't mean to—"_

 _"I believe you, baby. Take a deep breath, it's okay."_

 _He hauled in a shuddering breath, more tears leaking out onto his cheeks._

 _He didn't say anything else. She didn't ask him to._

 _Near-silence descended upon the car for a long time, the only sound being Carla's cooing and Stanley's sobs reducing to sniffles. Finally, he sat up and wiped at his face like a child._

 _"I-I need to take you home, your parents—"_

 _"I don't care about my parents right now. I care if you're okay."_

 _"I mean—"_

 _"You're not okay, Stanley. Where are you going to sleep tonight?"_

 _"I…I was thinkin the car…"_

 _Carla took a deep breath and nodded._

 _"There's no way I'm leaving you alone right now. You need someone with you right now."_

 _Stanley opened his mouth to object, but Carla gave him a look that told him arguing was pointless. He reached out and hugged her then._

 _"Thank you." He murmured. She hugged him back._

 _"I wouldn't leave you alone at a time like this, Stanley. You know that."_

They'd slept on the hood of the car, facing the stars, listening to the waves.

Carla's parents had been furious when she'd returned home the next morning. She'd barely listened to their yelling. She'd packed a bag that night, in case Stanley needed to leave. Because she _couldn't_ leave him alone at a time like that.

She'd decided to leave a life behind then. And now she was facing leaving another behind. Then again, life back in New Jersey wasn't exactly…fulfilling. Working at a diner in New Jersey wasn't the life she'd planned on. But being with Stanley again? The idea pulled at her heart in the best way, and she was having a hard time ignoring it. She'd missed him more than she'd been willing to admit.

She heard Vinnie's voice in her head, using the same tone she'd used when they were fifteen and Carla was gushing about Stanley to her.

 _You love him! You love him! You loooove him!_

Carla allowed herself to smile.

"I love him."

Her moment of solidarity, however, was interrupted by a scream coming from the woods. Panic shot through her, and she sprang to her feet.

"STANLEY!"


	7. Freakin' Gnomes

Stanley was honestly getting sick and tired of all this bad luck coming his way. Honestly, he'd just been minding his own business. He hadn't been hurting anyone. He really didn't deserve to be hanging upside down.

His vision swayed back and forth with him, though it was hard to see very clearly when he was thrashing around midair and spitting curses like one would spit sunflower seeds.

Below him, there were shapes gathering. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked angrily at the shapes.

Gnomes. Five of them. They'd gathered beneath him and were looking up curiously.

Stan groaned. "You guys again…"

Suddenly, he heard slow clapping start from behind the small crowd. The gnomes parted, and the bearded gnome from the kitchen that morning walked up to him, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Well, well, well! Look what the cat dragged in! Or, uh, the rope trap dragged up. Like, into the air."

"What the hell is your problem, pipsqueak? Why do you have a trap set up?"

"Well, normally they're set up so we can find our new gnome queens."

"…"

"…it's less creepy than it sounds."

"Is it? I don't think it is."

"Hey, look, we don't judge your mating rituals."

"I don't have any-!" He sighed angrily. "Will you just let me down?"

"Ha! Not a chance, Stanford! Not after what you did!"

"WILL SOMEONE ENLIGHTEN ME AS TO WHAT I SUPPOSEDLY DID?!"

"Are you still pretending-?! Ugh. Fine. Let's pretend for the moment that you don't remember what you did." He looked to his companions. "Should we remind him of his forest crimes?" The gnomes hooted and hollered their support. "You, Stanford, captured our kind and kept them in that nightmare shack of yours!"

"Ooh, shack. I think I like that better than hut."

"Don't mock me!"

"I was being serious!"

"Yeah, sure you were. Anyway. Not only did you kidnap gnomes and hold them against their will, but you did it to all sorts of creatures! Phoenixes, fairies…some other creature that starts with a "f" sound!"

"Woah. Yeah, that's pretty messed up."

"So, you deny that—wait, what?"

"I said that's messed up. Ford shouldn't've done that."

"You…you're agreeing with me?"

"Yeah."

"You're not supposed to do that!"

"What?!"

"You're supposed to deny the heinousness of your crimes so we can interrogate you further!"

"Oh, so if I disagree with you you get mad, but if I agree you get mad anyway?"

"Yes!"

"Jesus, you're like my dad." Stan brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Shut up! I, Jeff Sr., decree that—"

"'Decree'?"

"—THAT FOR YOUR CRIMES YOU WILL BE GIVEN AS A SACRIFICE TO THE GNOME QUEEN!"

Stanley paled.

"Woah, h-hey, sacrifice? I-I don't really think—"

"Our queen gets tired of nothing but snack food, Stanford, and we have to keep her happy."

"She's gonna _eat_ me?! The hell kinda queen do you have?!"

"A beautiful one. How would you like it if I insulted _your_ lady?"

There was a rustle in the bushes, and Carla tumbled out.

" _I_ would be pretty pissed off!"

She pointed her thumb at her chest proudly, before coughing. A leaf tumbled out of her mouth. "Oh, gross."

"Carla! Were you…were you waiting in the bushes for a good opening?"

"…I wanted to be cool for my damsel in distress."

Stanley's face flushed, and he looked away, murmuring "…not a damsel in distress…"

Jeff Sr. staggered backwards. "It's the crazy chair lady!"

"That's right baby, I'm back and crazier than ever. Let my damsel in distress go, or you're gonna get worse than a chair."

Stanley blushed an even deeper shade of red, but this time he smiled.

Jeff Sr. narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're going to regret this…"

Carla let out a "pfft" and pulled a small bottle out of her pocket.

"See this, little guy? It's pepper spray. This stuff'll hurt like hell, not to mention blind you. I've used it before and I'll use it again."

She raised an eyebrow at him with an expression that read "try me", and Jeff Sr.'s eyes widened.

"Back to base, guys! Go!" He scampered away with the other five gnomes. Carla nodded in triumph with a "hmph!" before running over to Stanley, who was still hanging upside down.

"You okay, baby? They rough you up any?"

Stanley's heart skipped a beat. _She's calling me pet names again._

"Pfft, you think I'd let someone that small rough me up?"

"I dunno, you remember that tiny guy in the ring?"

Stanley frowned, the wound in his pride still fresh to him.

"Hey, that guy was scrappy."

"I'll say. Took you down with one blow."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Can you just get me down, please?"

Carla looked a little nervous at this.

"I…okay, look, I'm going to try to do this as gently as possible. I can't promise a super smooth landing, but—"

"Just get it over with."

"I don't wanna break your neck…"

"Hey, I trust you!"

"Mm, maybe not the best idea."

She began to work on the rope. She pulled at the knot around his ankle, loosening it. It was already obvious his ankle would, best case scenario, be darkly bruised. "Try to shake your ankle out of the knot, I'll try to support you."

He began to wiggle his foot out of the rope, and she looped her arms beneath his. He fell from the rope with a thud, and Carla hit the ground with him.

"Sorry! Crap, Carla, sorry!"

"No, you're good!" She hoisted herself up, and held out a hand for him to take. He rose unsteadily with her help, and she smiled sympathetically at him. "How's your ankle?"

"Eh, sore. Nothin' I can't handle."

Carla let out a sigh of relief, and her small smile spread into a grin.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Me too. Thanks. Thanks for saving me." He grinned back at her.

Swiftly, Carla brushed Stan's hair away from his forehead and jumped up to lay a quick kiss on it. Stanley's heart skipped a beat again.

"Sorry, Stanley, was that okay for me to do?"

"Y-Yeah! That was fine!"

"I-I was just really worried when I heard you scream...I mean, anything could've happened to you!"

"Well, luckily for us, it was just a couple of annoying twerps!" Stanley declared happily with a chuckle. Carla laughed, too.

"Can we talk about his face when I pulled out the pepper spray?"

"Oh God, I was trying not to bust a gut laughing! He looked like he was about to wet himself!"

Carla began to laugh harder, bending over to rest her hands on her knees. Stanley joined in, both of them sounding nearly hysterical.

Carla wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and sighed.

"Okay, let's go back to the—"

 _THUMP._

The smile slid off her face.

 _THUMP_.

Stanley looked at her, wide-eyed.

 _THUMP_.

The sound of not so distant trees crashing down filled the air.

Stanley grabbed Carla's hand.

"Run."

The two began to run like hell, just as a large red monster crashed through the tree line.

Carla cast a terrified look behind her at the towering gnome made of hundreds of little gnomes.

"GIGANTIC MAN! HUGE GIGANTIC MAN!"

"I SEE IT!"

"HAVE THEY DONE THIS BEFORE?!"

"I WOULDN'T HAVE MADE FUN OF THEM SO MUCH IF THEY HAD!"

Branches smacked at them as they ran. The house was so close, they just had to get out of the woods and they'd be fine—

Stanley was on the ground. Then he just…wasn't.

The tower of gnomes had snatched him up in one hand. It quickly became one of the worst experiences of Stan's life.

It wasn't as if he was in an actual hand. He was in a swarm of angry gnomes, with scratchy nails and sharp teeth.

The scratching and biting was nearly unbearable. He could barely breathe. Faintly, all the way from the ground at least fifty feet below, he heard Carla scream his name.

"I swear to God, if any of you punks lay a hand on her I'll tear your freakin' beards off!" He yelled with as much rage as he could muster. He was drowning in gnomes, though, so it wasn't very intelligible.

He could barely see, but he could feel that they'd turned around. From the sounds of it, they were in hot pursuit of Carla.

 _Oh God, please don't catch her, please don't catch her, please don't—_

The sunlight became brighter, and Stan knew they had entered a clearing.

 _Great, we're at the house. That's just what I need, aggravated gnome vandalism of my brother's property._

He heard a loud splash.

 _…or maybe we're not at the house._

Collective shrieks began to rise up. Above the din, Jeff Sr.'s voice piped up angrily.

"No, you idiots! Walk _out_ of the water! The gnomes forming the feet are going to drown!"

There was great confusion throughout the structure. It began to wobble and move uncoordinatedly, throwing Stanley around.

Then the whole thing began to fall apart.

Stanley was falling before he was entirely sure what was happening. He was grasping at something, anything to hold onto, but found nothing. There was no longer anything holding him up. As he fell, numb in panic, he found himself wondering where Carla was, if she was okay.

Then he hit the ground, and everything went dark.


	8. Talking Through The Heavy Stuff

Carla, for what seemed like the thousandth time that afternoon, forced herself not to panic. He was alright, he was breathing, it was going to be _okay._ She just had to keep strong.

She looked at the couch where Stanley was lying and contemplated again taking him to the hospital. She'd gotten the town's doctor to come look at him, and the quack had verified that he "was, indeed, unconscious". He then went on to say that as long as Stanley wasn't having breathing complications, a hospital shouldn't be necessary.

 _"But he's unconscious!"_

 _"Is he breathing?"_

 _"Well, yeah, but—"_

 _"Then he should be fine!"_

 _"Sir, do you actually have a medical license?"_

The doctor had left nearly an hour ago, and Stan was still out cold. Carla inhaled shakily and rubbed at her eyes. She was not about to let herself cry, because if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop.

Gently, with trembling fingers, she rubbed a small dab of antibiotic ointment into a cut on Stan's face. No doubt that was inflicted by a branch while they were running from the gnome monster.

"While we were running from the gnome monster…" Carla murmured to herself. Would that ever sound right? She didn't think so.

She reached back into the first aid kit and grabbed a Band-Aid. She was incredibly happy that she'd found it, though it'd taken a very thorough search. In his sleep, Stanley groaned uncomfortably and shifted away from Carla. She jerked her hand back, wincing in sympathy.

"Sorry, Stanley…"

Her breath hitched and she began to blink vigorously.

"No, no, no, c'mon don't cry, me…"

Her vision began to blur.

"Noooooo…"

A sob escaped her, and the dam broke.

"S-Stanley, I'm so, so, s-so sorry that th-this happened, i-it's _all_ my fault! I-If I hadn't b-been so stupid, being all 'oh, let's go on a magic f-freakin' fairy hunt!', you w-wouldn't be hurt, and—and—and—" She broke off and began to cry. "Please be okay, please, p-please…" She took a deep breath, trying her best to calm herself. "L-Look, if you don't wake up in the next five minutes, I'm dragging your ass into my car and driving you to the hospital. So unless y-you wanna be poked at by some sterile quack, you should really w-wake up. It'll be a legit hospital, too. W-With surgeons, and probably elevators, and needles—"

Stanley shot up.

"Woah, hey, let's not get crazy!"

Carla blinked. Stanley gave her a sheepish grin.

"…it was real touching the way you cried over my unconscious body like that."

"How long have you been awake?!"

"I think I came to about the time you started bawling your eyes out."

"And you didn't think to let me know?!"

"I wanted to see where your speech was going."

"You're an asshole!"

"A lovable asshole?"

Carla fought back a smile. "N-No, an asshole!"

"Oh. Well."

Carla let out a sigh of relief and shot him a glare. She'd have smacked him upside the head if she wasn't worried about already existing brain injuries from his fall.

Stanley swung his legs off the couch and began to rise to his feet.

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours…you had me really worried."

"I could tell from the waterworks."

"Shut up!"

"Hey, I'm awake now, aren't I? Perfectly fine, right as reign, tip-top shape!" He spread his arms out in display of himself, and Carla gasped.

"You're bleeding!"

"Huh?"

He looked down at his torso where a small red spot on his shirt was getting bigger.

"Oh. Well whouldja look at that."

"Okay, hold on hold on hold on, I've got a first aid kit. Take your shirt off."

"Why Carla, so forw—"

"Now is not the time! Take off your shirt!"

Stanley awkwardly pulled his shirt off over his head and looked away from her, trying to pretend he wasn't blushing.

Carla grabbed a bandage from the first aid kit and applied it to the cut.

"Ugh, I think it opened up when you stood up…it's a good thing it's not super deep."

She looked up at him and gave him an encouraging smile. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the pink tint to his cheeks. "Why are you blushing?"

"It's just, uh, well…" He glanced at his torso.

Carla laughed far louder than she meant to. "Stanley, I've seen you with your shirt off! Hell, I've seen you with your _pants—"_

"No, no, it's not that! It's that I've gotten a little, uh, heavier since you last saw me, and…"

Carla felt her heart swell. He was such a cutie sometimes.

"Stanley, I don't care about that. I like people with a tum, actually…"

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's just more to love!"

Stanley's cheeks darkened to a practically scarlet hue. Carla bit her lip and smiled, resisting the urge to kiss his soft-looking stomach.

"Okay, hold the bandage there. I'm gonna check you for any more cuts."

"You didn't before?"

"You were unconscious, I wasn't about to undress you! That's creepy!"

"Fair enough."

She walked behind him and began looking up and down his back. She froze when she spotted an odd-looking mark on the back of his shoulder.

"Stanley, what's this on your shoulder?"

He hesitated for a moment, before: "Uh, I got a tattoo."

Carla leaned closer to the mark and squinted. "It looks…suspiciously like a burn mark."

"…I got branded."

"Stanley, oh my God! Why would you-?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"Then how…?"

Stanley let out a long, loud sigh.

"Look, uh…before Ford got pushed into the portal, he and I—"

"Pushed in?" Carla felt her heart drop to her toes, and it felt like someone had thrown ice water on her. "You said he got sucked in."

Stan groaned and sat back down on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

" _Crap_."

Carla sat cautiously down next to him, at the very edge of the couch. She found herself suppressing her fight and flight mode.

"Stanley…?"  
Stanley took a deep breath. Carla's noticed how shaky it sounded.

"Carla, you gotta believe me when I say it was an accident. I would never—you know how much I love Ford. Even after I got kicked out, I still love him. He's my brother. I'd never try to—"

"Stanley, calm down. Explain what happened to me."

"Okay, okay. About six months ago, I was…not doin' so hot. Jorge and Rico—"

"Those guys from Colombia?"

"Yeah, them. They were lookin' for me because…ah, well, I kinda…owe 'em. Just a little bit. It's not important. I had them lookin' for me, the cops lookin' for me, and I was out of food, money, and luck."

Carla did her best to ignore the voice in her head that whispered " _It might not have gotten that bad if you'd stayed."_

"Out of the blue, I got a postcard from Ford. He said he needed my help, so of course I came up here. He was half outta his mind when I got here, and showed me what I showed you. The portal. The journal. Everything. And he told me that he…he wanted me to take the journal and get as far away as possible."

"Why would he ask you to do that?"

"He wanted me to hide it. He didn't want it. That's why I can't find the other two; he hid them. He wanted to shut down the portal, and I'd be fine with that of course, if he wasn't…y'know, on the other side of it."

"How'd you get the burn mark?"

"We…we got into a fight. Before he fell—before I pushed him in. He pinned me up against this…burn-y symbol thingy, and it branded into my—"

"Oh my God, on purpose?!"

"No! No, it was an accident! He tried to apologize, but…" A pained look crept onto his face.

"But…?"

"But I punched him. Ford tried to apologize to me and I decked 'im. And then I…I accidentally pushed him into a huge hell-portal and I have no idea where he is, and it's all my fault, and—"

"Stanley! Stanley, it's okay! Hey. Look at me. Look at me right now."

He stopped talking and looked at her with wide eyes.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Do you forgive him for burning you?"

"What does this have to do with—?"

"Do. You. Forgive. Him. For. Burning. You."

"Of course."

"Why?"

"B-Because it was an accident."

"Just like…?"

"Me…pushing him…into a portal."

"And what are you doing right now?"

"Sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myse—"

"No, trying to get him back. That's your sorry to him. And you need to forgive yourself, because I know sure as hell you would never hurt your brother on purpose."

"Carla, I…"

"Please listen to me. I know you. And I know you're sorry. I also know you deserve forgiveness. I may not be the one in the portal, but I'm going ahead and forgiving you, because one of us needs to."

He was staring at her in shock. Carla felt a fire in her, and couldn't bring herself to stop talking.

"I don't give a damn what your dad told you. Or your teachers. Or my parents."

"Y-Your parents never said anything to me."

"I…oh. Uh. Forget I said that, then. Anyway. I don't care about the insults people have thrown at you. You deserve forgiveness, and love, and—"

She didn't get to finish because Stanley threw his arms around her. She inhaled quickly and felt her heart begin to race.

"Thank you…" He murmured it, and it was muffled by her hair, but she still heard it. She threw her arms around him and hugged him back.

"No prob, Bob."

Stanley laughed tearfully and buried his face further in her hair. Carla began to mess with his long, messy hair.

"Do you forgive me for leaving you?" She said it softly, then squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn't even meant to say it, it had just popped into her mind and out her mouth. Stanley pulled back from the hug and looked at her.

"What?"

"You don't have to! I understand if you don't!"

"Carla, Carla hey. Look, uh…" He looked like he was struggling for the right words to say as he held her hands in his, running his thumb along the back of one of her hands. "You don't have to feel like you need my forgiveness. Leavin' was…it wasn't my choice to make. You're a gal with her own life and her own wants, and I'd rather die than be the person to try and take that from you. You know, I've always said, 'My Carla-baby, she knows what she wants.' And that's a good thing. That's a great thing. Sure, it hurt, because I loved you. Still do. But…it was selfish of me to think you'd just tag along with no questions asked wherever I went. That's not you. That's not us."

It wasn't like Stanley to be full of such sage wisdom. Carla's eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. Her Stanley had grown so much since she'd last seen him. They both had.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, Stanley, but I want you to know that if I could go back, if I could change only one choice I've made, it would be to stay with you, to go home, to talk things out instead of hitting the road with some pretentious guitar-playing—"

"Carla. I know you're sorry, babe, it's okay. Like I said, you ain't got nothin' to apologize for, but I forgive you." He looked a little nervous. "…is this your way of sayin' you wanna stay?"

"God yes."

"That's the best apology I could ever get."

A strange look crossed his face, and he began to lean towards her, hesitantly, wordlessly asking permission to kiss her. Breathlessly, albeit awkwardly, Carla nodded, and closed the gap between them. Their lips met, and it was like the first time they kissed all over again. Mostly because it was slightly awkward.

It would've been hard to top the awkwardness of their first kiss back in Glass Shard Beach. What year had that been? '65? She was fairly certain it was '65. They'd been outside the Bijou after watching a horror movie. It'd been a hot night, but Carla hadn't been certain whether or not that was really the weather or it'd just been radiating from the two of them. He'd reached out and took her hand. His hand was sweaty. Her fifteen year old heart had been trying to pound its way out of her chest. She'd leaned over too quickly and missed his mouth completely. Rather than being smooth about it, she'd burst out into laughter; loud, snorty laughter. Stanley had been beet red. On Carla's second attempt, she actually landed one on his lips. He hadn't known where to put his hands, and she'd let out a tiny squeak when he'd started kissing back. It had been one of the most awkward experiences of Carla's life, but if she had the chance to, she wouldn't change it.

It was perfectly awkward then, and it was perfectly awkward then on the couch. Stanley made an uncomfortable noise and pulled back.

"You alright, babe?"

"Yeah, sorry, busted lip."

"Oh, then you shouldn't be hurting it—!"

She was going to say "more", but Stanley cut her off with another fierce kiss. She squeaked, but returned the kiss after a moment. Wrapping one arm around his middle and running the other hand through his hair. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. Against his mouth, she giggled.

Outside the window, in the evening air, fireflies began to blink on and off, like Christmas lights.


	9. Lake-cationer

Carla had been in Gravity Falls for four months, and Stanley still couldn't comprehend what the hell he had done right to deserve her back in his life.

She'd moved her stuff from New Jersey to Oregon, a feat Stan had been impressed she could accomplish in two trips.

She'd started helping around the Murder Hut, too. Stan had to say, she made a pretty great cashier girl. She had a face that people just trusted; a pretty smile, kind eyes, and a cheery voice. It was such a load off of him to have someone working the cash register while he gave tours. He'd been thinking of hiring, but with Carla there and more than willing to do it? It was perfect.

It was a Sunday that the phone rang, and Carla's mother was on the other end.

"Hello, honey. You haven't been in contact with me or your father in a little while, is everything okay? Did you end up visiting Stanford?"

Stanley could hear the question from the phone, even though Carla had the phone up to her ear. Mrs. McCorkle was a loud woman, and she wondered where her daughter got it from. Carla and Stanley exchanged a look before Carla answered.

"Uh, actually, mom, I'm still visiting him. Stanl— _ford_ and I have a lot of catching up to do, you know, from since high school, so I figured…"

Mrs. McCorkle's voice instantly brightened. "Oh Dios mío, Carla, that's wonderful! I always did say that Stanford Pines was a good boy, so smart and polite! A much better match for you, I'd say!"

Carla's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She looked at Stanley and mouthed 'I am so sorry!'. Stanley's eyebrows were raised, and his mouth was hanging open a little as well. He'd known the woman hadn't liked him, but _damn_. It was stone cold to diss a dead man like that. Carla obviously thought so, too.

"Mom! Isn't that a little disrespectful to the dead?"

"I'm just saying, Carla! I'm glad you two are bonding! Besides, it's not as if Stanley can hear me!"

Carla glanced over at Stanley, who was listening intently.

"What about looking down on you from Heaven, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know about Stanley in _Heaven_ , honey, but—"

"Yeah alright, look, mom, I gotta go. Talk to you whenever."

"Carla, I—"

Carla slammed the phone back onto its receiver before her mother could finish. She let out a long, frustrated groan.

"Stanley, I'm so sorry you had to hear that, that was really messed up."

"Jeez, how did you live with that for seventeen years?"

"I've asked myself that many times."

She sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. Stanley felt a burst of affection in him, and crossed the room to pull her into a side-hug.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't let her get to you."

"Me? Don't let her get to _you!"_

"Eh, I don't. Not my fault she's got a stick up her ass."

Carla snorted and pushed him away.

"C'mon now, she's still my mom…"

"And I have no idea how a woman like that raised a woman like you."

Carla grinned at him, and his heart sang in triumph.

"So, did you…did you wanna go look for journals today?"

The smile slid off Stan's face.

"A-Actually, I was thinkin' I do that alone today."

"What?"

"I need you to pick some stuff up for the Murder Hut today. While you do that, I'm gonna look in the woods for a while."

"Stanley, I don't know if that's a good idea. I mean, I don't want…"

She trailed off. Stanley ran his tongue along his bottom lip without thinking, and felt the cut scarring there.

"You don't have to worry about me, doll. This damsel in distress can defend himself!"

Carla made a worried face, and Stanley swooped in and gave her pert nose a tiny kiss.

"Trust me, okay?"

"…okay. Fine. What do you need me to pick up?"

The forest was just as hot in July as it had been in June, if not hotter. He'd barely been out an hour, but sweat was already dripping off of Stan.

He wiped some of it out of his eyes and swatted at another bug. At least, he thought it was a bug, until it spoke.

"Hey! Look! Listen!"

"Oh crap, you're a tiny person." He squinted at the tiny fairy splatted against the ground. "Welp. I guess I'm goin' to Hell." He sighed. "Freakin' fairies. Can a man not look for his brother's diary in peace?"

He leaned back on his heels, pulled a rag out of his pocket, and began to wipe at his face.

"Ford, where are your journals, bro?"

He walked out of the trees and saw that he was at the lake.

"Huh. Hello again." He walked over to the water and knelt down, splashing water on his face.

He hadn't expected to see another face staring back at him.

A pair of sea-green eyes stared back into his chocolate brown ones.

"HOLY HELL!" He screamed as he fell back.

The girl in the water shrieked and ducked back into the water.

Stanley sat there in shock, panting. Slowly, ever so slowly, the girl rose above the water again, just so her eyes are visible. Stanley blinked at her.

"Uh…hey there. Kid. What, uh…what are you doing in the lake?"

She rose slightly higher so her mouth was exposed.

"This is where my family is vacationing for the summer." She had a beautiful Spanish accent. She reminded Stan of a girl he'd met in Columbia. He still felt kind of bad for conning her out of a thousand peso.

"Oh, Gravity Falls? I dunno if I'd vacation here, but—"

"No, the lake."

"…what."

The girl smiled sheepishly at her.

"My family's lifestyle is…most likely quite different from yours."

"So different that you vacation in a lake?"

"Ah, yes." In the water next to her, the end of an emerald tail surfaced. Stanley's jaw dropped.

"OH."

"I trust that you will not go telling everyone? I mean, from what I have heard, this town is not your everyday town."

"Y-Yeah, that's…that's true." Stanley's stomach was turning, just like it always did when he was confronted with the supernatural. "So, uh, what's your name?"

"My name is Mermadeline. What is yours?"

"I'm Stanley."

Her eyes widened, and she swam a little away from him.

"Woah, hey, what's wrong?"

"I, uh…I have heard of you."

"What? How the hell am I famous in the mermaid community?"

"No no, the human woman Carla has told me about you."

"Wait…you know Carla?! And she's been talkin' bad about me?!"

"No no no, señor, she has not! She has just told me that you are afraid of magical beings!"

"Hey, I'm not _afraid,_ I just—wait, when was my girlfriend talkin' to you?"

"Ah, you have called her your girlfriend! That should make her happy, she was not quite sure whether you considered her your girlfriend!"

"Of course I consider her my girlfriend! I-If she wants me to, anyway…And you still haven't told me how you know Carla!"

"Oh, well, she has come down to the lake quite a few times. The first time was looking for some sort of journal and met me instead, but all the other times have been to visit me. She is a very good friend! Very sweet and understanding, a wonderful listener. She did not tell you about our friendship, because, well…she was not quite sure how you would react."

Stanley felt his face flush with shame. He didn't want Carla to feel like she had to hide things from him! True, he wasn't exactly… _comfortable_ with the freakish nature of this town, but still…

He looked back at Mermadeline and offered a sheepish smile.

"Well, hey, I ain't gonna hurt you or anything. How old are you? Eleven? Twelve?"

Mermadeline looked offended. "Thirteen! I will be fourteen soon!"

"Oh, uh, my bad." He hesitated. "Has, uh…has Carla said anything else about me, besides that I'm scared of monsters?"

Mermadeline gave him a sly smile. "She has mentioned that you are very funny. And handsome."

Stanley's chest puffed out with pride.

"And that your snoring is louder than a freight train."

His chest deflated a little.

"But I do not think she really minds." She raised an eyebrow at Stan and smirked. "Why did you want to know?"

"O-Oh, no reason, just curio—"

"Trying to find out what your girlfriend has been saying behind your back?"

"Pfft, no, I just—"

"I would not worry, my shaggy-haired friend. Carla is crazy for you. If I were you, I would put a ring on that." She flipped her curly hair behind her sassily. Stanley blinked at her.

"Anyways, I should be off! My father will be quite cross if I do not return by lunch. You know how kings are."

"Woah, wait, your father is a king?! That would make you a princess, wouldn't it?"

Mermadeline giggled. "I believe that is how it works with most monarchies, yes. Well, goodbye! It was nice meeting you, señor! Tell Carla I said hello, and that she can retrieve her comb any time she'd like it!"

With that, she disappeared back into the water. Stanley sat there for a second in silence, before bursting out laughing. Carla had lent a mermaid princess her comb. Of course she had. He was going to have to let her know soon that he knew about her fishy friend.

He found himself wondering how her errands were going. He was sure they were going better than his journal-searching.

He was wrong.


	10. One Wreck Leads to Another

Carla had gone into town looking for light bulbs and bread, but found something much more groundbreaking.

It was in the window of an antique store. Just…sitting there, in plain view. Carla's soul nearly left her body when she saw it. She ran in, grabbed it, flipped through its pages like a madwoman, and ran to the counter. She slammed it down on the counter, nearly scaring the poor clerk half to death.

"Sir! Where did you get this?!"

"O-Oh, well, my kid found it when he was messin' around in the woods, and didn't want it. I thought it was just spooky enough to fit in with the rest of my things!"

"How much for it?!"

"I'm askin' five dollars for it, ma'am."

Yanking her wallet out of her bag, she hastily threw a crumpled up $5 on the counter and ran out.

"Thank you!"

The clerk sat in mild shock for a moment, staring where the woman had just been.  
"Wonder what had her so excited…"

Carla practically ran to her car, journal clutched tightly to her chest. Ecstatically, she looked down at the cover again. There it was: golden six-fingered handprint with a big black "2" in the center. She ran a hand over the hard red cover.

"God, I know we haven't talked in a while, but _thank you_."

She hopped in her car, putting the journal in the passenger seat. She bit her lip in an attempt to stave off a grin, but failed. They were one journal closer, one step closer to bringing Ford back. She felt excitement course through her. She missed Ford, she really did, and she hated seeing Stanley so unhappy with himself. This whole nightmare would be over. The three of them could go back to how they were in high school, before everything got complicated.

She couldn't _wait_ to show Stanley. He was going to be over the moon. He was going to be bursting with joy. He was going to be—

She never even saw the other car come veering around the corner.

She sat in the driver's seat, dazed, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Frantic tapping on her window snapped her back into reality.

"Ma'am! Ma'am, I am so, so sorry! I—I didn't see ya, I was—I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?!" The man had a warm voice, one with a thick Southern accent.

Carla rolled her window down.

"I-I'm fine! I think I'm fine. A-Are you hurt, sir?"

"N-No, I'm fine! Are you sure you are? I dented your car a little bit…gosh, I feel terribibble!"

Carla raised an eyebrow. "Terribibble?"

The man blinked at her. "D-Did I say that? I meant terrible. Sorry." He glanced at the front of her car and made a face. "I-I'm real sorry bout your car…I could work on it, if you'd like! I'm actually pretty knowledgeable when it comes to—" He froze, and his eyes widened. Carla followed his gaze to the journal sitting in the passenger seat.

"Where….where did you get that?" His voice had the flatness of one trying to keep a scream from surfacing.

"Uh…I wrote it." Carla didn't know why, but she suddenly felt very keen on getting out of there with the journal as soon as possible. "You…you don't have to fix my car, sir. I'm actually a bit of a car enthusiast myself, I can do it." She revved the engine to let him know she planned to drive off then and there, and he took a step back, large blue eyes still locked on the journal. She drove off down the street, swerving to avoid the small crowd of people who had gathered to see the minor wreck. She fought back a shudder, as she could swear she felt his gaze still on her as she drove away.

It was nearly nighttime, the very last rays of the sun disappearing behind the trees. Carla sighed impatiently, legs swinging from the plush loveseat in the living room. She'd been a little embarrassed the first time she realized her feet didn't quite touch the floor when she sat in this chair, but Stanley had thought it was hilariously adorable. He wouldn't let her forget it, either.

She glared at the clock and debated once more whether to go find Stanley in the woods. The reasonable part of her said "It'll take hours to find him", but the excited part of her said "But the second journal!". Once again, the reasonable part won the argument, but just barely. To pass the time, she began to flip through the journal (carefully, so afraid to tear it). She raised an eyebrow in concern at a particular page.

"Possession? Ford, what the hell were you up to after high school…"

There was a knock at the door. Carla perked up, a grin instantly gracing her features. Stanley was home! She sprang up and used one hand to hide the journal behind her back, the other hand to answer the door. She threw it open with a mischievous smirk.

"Hey, handso—"

Before she knew what was happening, there was a burlap sack over her head, and her entire world was thrown into chaos. She screamed, dropping the journal, using both fists to swing at her unseen attackers. To her dismay, she couldn't seem to land a solid punch. The sack had a strangely chemical smell to it, and Carla began to feel light headed. She could hear several pairs of shoes enter the room through her daze. A warm, Southern voice spoke up.

"Grab the journal."

Then Carla felt her knees buckle from under her, and like a light switch being turned from "on" to "off", her world went black.


	11. Just Forget About It

Stanley was getting incredibly worried. Carla still wasn't back from running errands, and it was getting late. He paced the living room and glanced nervously at the clock again, before letting out another worried sigh. 8:34. She should've been back hours ago. He plopped down onto the loveseat and bouncing one of his legs vigorously, a nervous habit he hadn't given into in a long time. He tried to ignore the pesky voice in his head that just wouldn't shut up.

 _She's left again._

"Jesus, is a woman not allowed to be in town for a few hours without her boyfriend?"

 _She should've been back hours ago._

"I ain't in charge of her schedule."

 _She's not coming back._

"Shut the hell up…me."

 _What if something bad happened to her?_

"She's _fine._ I don't need to worry."

She'd be back. Any minute now.

Any minute now.

When Carla came to, her first thought was how the sack over her head smelled way too much like sweat to be acceptable.

Her arms and legs were tied down to the chair she was seated in, and she could barely move them.

There were hushed voices around her, like she was seated in a funeral parlor. She cleared her throat.

"Hey, assholes, I'm awake! Did you wash this thing before throwing it over my head, or did you decide to use it as a sweat towel for the hell of it?"

The hushed voices stopped. There was shuffling, and then the bag was gone. What Carla saw made her tense up instantly. She was surrounded by a group of figures in deep scarlet robes, all with the hoods hiding their faces. The same Southern voice from earlier spoke from under one of the hoods.

"Steve, you were in charge of bag washing duty this week. At…at least I think you were. Were you?"

"Yes, sorry, Dr.…"

"Aw, it's fine, just make sure it doesn't happen again."

Carla glared at him. "I've already seen your face, you don't have to hide it from me. Unless you're scared to look at me, which you should be."

The man hesitated, before slowly removing his hood. As expected, it was the man from earlier, with the same crazed blue eyes. He looked at Carla sorrowfully.

"I'm r-real sorry we had to do this, ma'am. Normally we only do this sorta thing to ourselves, but when I saw that journal…" One of his eyes twitched, and he shuddered. "Ya can't just be left to your own devices with that. Th-There are too many innocent people in this world, I can't just let…" He was wringing his hands, eyes darting around the floor, avoiding her face. Carla was aware that she was in the presence of an incredibly mentally unstable man.

"Please, you don't understand, I _need_ that journal! I need it to—"

"Oh I know plenty well what you need it for, young lady. That's why you can't have it."

"What…what do you mean?"

The man glanced around at his colleagues. "Leave us, if you will. Oh, and Gene?"

"Yes, Dr. McGucket?"

"Tell your wife I said happy birthday when you get home!"

"Will do!"

The door closed behind the last person, and Carla was alone with who she could only assume was the leader.

"Who are you?"

"Well…I suppose you won't remember in a little bit, so…"

"What do you mean I won't re—"

"I'm Fiddleford McGucket, and you are in the headquarters of the Society of the Blind Eye."

"…wait. Fiddleford?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"You…you're 'F', aren't you?"

"I don't…"

"That's how you know about the journals. You're the 'F' he talks about in his journal, aren't you? His college buddy. His frie—"

"STANFORD PINES GAVE UP BEIN' MY FRIEND A WHILE AGO!" Fiddleford yelled, more anger in his voice than Carla had yet heard from him. Fiddleford stormed to a table across the room and picked up the second journal. "I don't know why you want to bring about the end of the world, but I won't let you. I can't let you. I-It's a miracle it hasn't been brought about already, but—"

"Bring the end of the world?! I don't understand what you're saying, you're not making any sense!"

"I'm makin' perfect sense!" Fiddleford snapped defensively. "N-Never said anythin' non-sensible in my life…"

"I dunno, 'terribibble' was pretty non-sensible."

Fiddleford glared at her, brought two fingers to his lips, and whistled. Instantly, his followers came back into the room.

"Wait, no, listen—"

"Ladies and gentleman, it's time this young lady had her memory cleansed. It's time we absolve her of her bad memories, don't you think?"

His followers murmured their agreement, and Carla felt her heart quickening.

"W-What do you mean 'cleanse my memory'? What are you going to do to me?"

From beneath his robe, Fiddleford produced an odd-looking gun, with a large light bulb on it. "I'm gonna erase your memory, hon."

Carla's face became a mask of terror, and she began struggling against her bondage.

"N-No! No, stop, you can't! Please, I don't want you to, I want my memories!"

"H-Hey now, don't be scared! It's alright, I'm only erasin' the nasty parts, the ones involving this whole…spooky journal business."

"I DON'T WANT YOU TO! LET ME GO!"

"There's no need to shout, darlin'."

"STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE YOU'RE MY DAD!"

Fiddleford was turning a knob on the gun. Carla wished she could see what the knob did. Fiddleford took a step towards her, gun at the ready. Carla continued to struggle with all her might.

"BUZZ OFF! STOP IT! NO!"

"I'm doin' this for your own good...for everyone's good…"

There was a brilliant flash of blue. Above the buzzing suddenly filling her brain, Carla heard one final "comfort".

"When you wake up, this'll all have been a bad dream…"

After it was done and Carla had slipped back into unconsciousness, Fiddleford eyed Journal 2 and shuddered.

"What should we do with it, Dr. McGucket?"

"I don't want the horrid thing. Someone else take it. Do what you want with it. Burn it. Tear it to pieces. Bury it. I don't care. Just keep it far, far away from me, and away from Stanford Pines's house."

One cloaked man stepped forward.

"I'll take it."

"Charles Gleeful, thank you kindly." He eyed the book again before turning away and looking at Carla, fast asleep, still tied down to the chair. He felt an intense pang of guilt. He'd never started this to hurt anyone, never wanted to force someone to forget like this, but…it was for the greater good. He had to remember that. It was for the greater good. Still, he couldn't help but feel a hot ball of guilt in his stomach when he looked at the poor girl.

He'd have to remember to erase this memory later.


	12. Error: Memory Not Found

Just about the only light on main street were the street lamps, and even they weren't much. But it was late, and most of the shops were closed. Carla was nowhere to be found.

Stanley was nearly in full-panic mode. He walked the street with purpose, peering into shop windows.

"Carla? Carla, baby, you out here?"

It was worrisome when she didn't turn back home by 9. But by 10? Something was wrong. So there he was, pacing the street like a madman, calling out for his (hopefully temporarily) lost love.

 _Maybe I should go to the police…would that be overreacting? I don't wanna take any chances, not when it comes to Carla's safety…and I don't really think you can overreact with missing people._

He turned on his heel and set off in the direction of the police station. It was only a few buildings away, if he could just…

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the Gravity Falls Museum of History. On the front steps, under a street lamp, sat Carla.

"Carla!" He called joyfully, relief instantly flooding him. He ran over to her, a grin on his face. "Baby, you had me worried! It's so late! What're you doin' at the museum?"

Carla looked up at him. Her expression was very…odd. Stan didn't know if it was just the light playing tricks on his eyes, but her eyes looked very vacant, staring up into his. She looked almost like she did the night she left him. He felt a sudden pull of anxiety at his gut.

"I…I'm not really…I'm not really sure what I'm doing at the museum, actually."

"…when did you come here?"

"…I don't remember."

Stanley's brow furrowed, and he sat down next to his confused girlfriend.

"Hey, is everything okay? You're lookin' kinda sick…" He pressed a hand gently to her forehead. "I ain't feelin' a fever…"

"I-I don't feel sick, Stanley, I just…" She shook her head and smiled softly. "Sorry, I'm just a little out of it this evening."

Stan raised an eyebrow at her. "You been drinkin'?"

"Nah, not today."

"Smoking pot?"

"HA! No, not in quite a while."

"Hm..." Stanley wasn't satisfied with her answers. It was seriously concerning that she couldn't remember when and why she went to the museum.

"Stanley, can we go home? I'm tired and cold."

"Sure thing, doll. I think I hear a warm bed calling our names."

"Mm…I'm expecting cuddles when we get home, mister." She said teasingly as she rose to her feet. Stanley grinned.

"Of course! Whaddya take me for?"

Carla's stomach grumbling interrupted their playful banter. Her brow furrowed.

"Huh. I don't think I've eaten dinner."

"What?! Babe, it's nearly midnight!"

"I'll eat when we get home!"

"Well yeah, I ain't lettin' you go to bed without dinner! How could you forget dinner?"

"I dunno, I guess I just…I dunno. It doesn't matter. Can we just go home, please?"

She'd recently started referring to Stan's house as "home", and while that usually filled his chest with warm pride, he was too concerned at the moment to even notice.

When they got back, Carla ran upstairs, and came back down in flowery pajamas and bunny slippers.

"Sit down, doll, I'll make you soup. You look cold as hell." Stan said comfortingly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Wouldn't 'hot as hell' make more sense?"

"Well, yeah, you're that too, but you're shivering."

Carla smiled and made an "oh, you" gesture while Stanley rummaged through the pantry for canned soup. Grabbing one, he peeled the lid off and poured it into a pot, turning on the stove and shooting his girlfriend a smile. He figured now would be a good time to bring up Mermadeline.

"So, Carla, I met a friend of yours today…"

Carla raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, she was this nice little girl. Kinda fishy, though."

Carla's eyes widened. "O-Oh…?"

"I think her name was Mermadeline?"

"Stanley, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about her, I just didn't know how you would—"

"Hey, I'm not mad! It's okay, you don't have to worry!"

Carla let out a sigh of relief. "I just…I know how you feel about monsters, and…it sorta felt like betrayal, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get it…I mean, I ain't their biggest fan, that's for sure, but…Mermadeline's a sweet kid. Even if she is half-fish."

Carla grinned. "Isn't she sweet? Look what she gave me!" She pulled a shell bracelet out of her pocket and held it up proudly. "She made it herself!"

Stan raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Woah! Hey, we should get her to make stuff for The Murder Hut! Can't you see it? 'Authentic Mermaid Jewelry, $50 each'!"

Carla snorted. "You're unbelievable."

"You know you love it."

"Hm. So, how'd you meet Mermadeline?"

"Oh, I was in the woods, lookin' for the journals, and ran across her at the lake."

Carla raised an eyebrow. "The…journals? What journals were you looking for in the woods?"

Stanley turned to look at her, and let out a chuckle. "Ha ha, very funny, doll."

"Thanks, but I wasn't joking…what journals are you talking about?"

Stanley gave her a rather irritated look. "Carla, c'mon, quit messin' with me. You know what journals."

"No! I don't! Could you be more specific?"

Stan put down the spoon he was using to stir the soup and walked over to her, pressing his hand against her forehead.

"You sure you're not sick?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Now tell me what journals!"

"The ones we need to bring Ford back!"

Carla's expression instantly softened.

"…Stanley, honey, there…there isn't anything that can bring him back…"

Stan's jaw dropped. "What—how the hell can you say that?"

Carla looked saddened by the disbelief in his voice. "Stan, I know that it's hard, I know he was your brother and you love him, but—"

"Quit talkin' like he's dead!"

"Sweetheart, you can't just stay in denial about—"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

Carla gave him a concerned look. "Stanley, are _you_ okay?"

"I'm freakin' peachy!" Stanley yelled, before sighing angrily and sitting down across from her. "Carla, I dunno why you're talkin' crazy all of a sudden, but…just, tell me what you're goin' on about."

Carla looked slightly offended, but went on anyway. "Well, uh…I moved out here with you about four months ago, after finding you again…"

Okay, she had that much correct.

"And I found you again because, uh…" She blinked, then looked uncomfortable. "About four and a half months ago, Ford…Ford died in a car crash."

Okay, absolutely not.

"Carla, Ford didn't die in a car crash! You know that! I _faked_ my death via car crash, but he had nothin' to do with that headline! He…I accidentally pushed him into a portal! And we need the journals to fix the portal to bring him back!"

Carla looked even more concerned.

"Were you out in the sun too long today?"

"Carla, baby, what happened to you?! Why are you remembering it all wrong?!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly, and looked imploringly at her. "Did someone do something to you? W-Was it some sort of spell? A witch? A fairy? Who did this?"

Carla stared up at him, eyes blank. Then something looked like it dawned on her, and she made a pained expression, hand flying to her head.

"S-Stanley, my head isn't feeling too good…I wanna go lie down."

Stanley nodded wordlessly and let his hands drop from her shoulders; he didn't really know what to say. Carla rose to her feet and, before leaving the kitchen, cast him a nervous look. "You coming to bed soon?"

"Y-Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."

"Okay...I'll be expecting cuddles, mister!"

Stanley didn't grin this time. He silently watched her walk up the stairs, before burying his face in his hands.

 _What had happened to Carla in the few hours she was missing?_

Upstairs, Carla crawled between the covers and wrapped her arms around one of the pillows, hugging it to her. It would have to substitute for Stanley until he came to bed.

She didn't know why he was acting so strange. It was kind of upsetting. Maybe he just needed some sleep, or some medicine, or…something.

Her head had a sort of lightness to it, as if something heavy had been taken from it that she hadn't even been aware was there. She felt like she should be concerned about something, like she should be doing something more, but…she wasn't sure what. She hadn't felt this funny since…well, since she'd met Thistle.

A tiny voice in the back of her head was screaming at her that something was wrong, something was very incredibly wrong.

She ignored it in favor of the bliss of sleep.


	13. Interrogation Over Breakfast

Warm rays of sunlight poured in from between the blinds, but it was the birds singing that woke Carla. Stretching happily, almost like a cat awaking from a satisfying nap, she yawned. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts enough to form a coherent thought. She'd had a weird dream last night, something with robes and hushed voices and bright lights and…she shook her head. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she turned to her left to see Stanley fast asleep next to her. She smiled softly and began to play with his hair.

 _He's so cute when he's asleep…did that sound creepy? Eh, who cares. My guy's a huge cutie._

The smile slid off her face slightly when she remembered their heated argument from the night before. Stanley had seemed so… _bewildered._ As if he just couldn't comprehend anything she was saying. And it was really upsetting to Carla, because he was acting as if she was crazy, as if he wasn't the one suddenly remembering four months of his life wrong! At least, the events leading up to the last four months of his life.

She could remember it all. She remembered her mother calling and telling her Ford was dead. She remembered sitting next to the tub in her apartment and bawling her eyes out. Remembered the trip down to Glass Shard, not seeing Stanley at the funeral, coming up to Oregon to find him…and it all went from there. Why had he been insisting otherwise?

She continued to play with his hair, even as she frowned. Silently, she resolved not to mention it unless he brought it up. If he was willing to forget about it, so was she. The poor man had probably just been out in the sun too long.

Stanley stirred and mumbled something sleepily, and Carla grinned.

"Hey there…is my favorite guy waking up?"

"Hm." Stan grunted.

"How's it hanging?"

"Tired…"

Carla cooed sympathetically and cuddled up next to him. He pulled her close to him and laid a kiss on top of her head. "How are you feelin', doll?"

"Energized, rejuvenated, and ready to raise some hell!"

"Look at you and your big words…it's not right that you're such a morning person. It's disgusting."

"Well you're a huge night owl."

"You used to be, too, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, that was before I got all _old_ …"

"You're thirty-three!"

"Yep, might as well put me in the ground now."

Stanley laughed and planted another kiss on her, this time ducking down to place it on her cheek. Carla grinned and cuddled closer to him, resting her head on his chest.

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, in the rays of the early morning sun. The bed had never felt more comfortable. Carla could hear Stanley's heartbeat beneath her ear, felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Carla wasn't quite sure if she really believed in Heaven, but if there was a Heaven, this was what she imagined it was like. Then Stanley cleared his throat, and Carla jumped a little.

"Think you could get up, Carla-baby? I need to brush my teeth before my morning breath kills me."

"There goes the moment. It's gone. You killed it."

They sat at the kitchen table in silence, sipping coffee. Stanley was drumming his fingers on the table, and Carla was looking out the window at the front lawn. The air between them had a strange tense-ness to it. Upstairs, holding each other under the soft sheets of their bed, their conversation the night before hadn't existed. But now, sitting in the kitchen, much more awake and much more in touch with reality, the conversation was painfully real.

Stanley cleared his throat, and Carla turned away from the window to look at him. Avoiding her eyes, he slid a red book across the table to her. She looked down at the book curiously, then back up at Stanley.

"What's this?"

"Just, uh…I dunno, if you were lookin' for something to read…"

Carla looked back down at the book. It was a deep red color, with a golden six-fingered handprint on the front. In the center of the handprint, there was a big, black "1".

"The six-fingered handprint…was this Ford's?"

"Y-Yeah, just, y'know…in case you were lookin' for a journal to read…"

Carla's eyes darted back up meet Stanley's.

"Ah. I see…is, uh, is this the journal you were talking about last night?"

"…maybe. You recognize it?"

Carla sighed, trying not to sound frustrated. "No, Stanley, I don't."

Stan frowned at her. "Carla, what's your full name?"

"What kind of question is that? You know my—"

"I'm seeing how messed up your memory is."

"Stanley, this is ridiculous!"  
"Carla. Please."

Carla rubbed a hand over her eyes and sighed again. "Fine. My name is Carla Rose McCorkle. Happy?"

"Where are you from?"

"Seriously?"

"C'mon, just treat this like an…an essay, or somethin'."

"I'm from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey."

"Where'd you go to high school?"

"Glass Shard High."

"College?"

"I didn't go to college."

"Who are your parents?"

"Gabriel and Laura McCorkle."

"How did we meet?"

Carla smiled fondly; this particular memory was one of her favorites. "You punched three teeth clean out of a mugger's face for me."

"Did you start dating me right after that?"

"Nope. I invited you to watch a movie with me that night, and we became friends. We started dating a few months after that."

Stanley grinned. "Okay, so I guess those memories are fine…"

"All my memories are fine! You're the one suddenly remembering stuff wrong!" Carla exclaimed. She instantly regretted it; Stanley was mourning the loss of his twin, she didn't need to be short-tempered with him. Though it was odd that it had taken four months for the grief to really mess with him. Up until this point, he'd been coping pretty well. Strangely well, as a matter of fact…

"Can I ask you some questions, Stanley?"

"Go ahead. My memory's fine."

"Where are _you_ from?"

"Glass Shard Beach."

"Um…who are your parents?"

"Filbrick and Maud Pines."

"How old were you when you left Glass Shard Beach?"

"Seventeen. So were you."

"How old were we when we met?"

"Fifteen years old. I'd been fifteen for about six months, and you'd been fifteen for about two months. It was June, in the summer between ninth and tenth grade. I was going to see a movie, Ford was at home getting a head start on summer reading. Your mom hadn't wanted you to go in the first place, because you were a teenage girl alone at night in the city. And sure enough, a mugger spotted your purse and tried to grab it, so I socked him in the face. You said you would've decked him yourself if you hadn't been using both hands to keep hold of your purse. You invited me to watch Grandpa the Kid with you and I walked you home that night and went home and realized I hadn't even gotten your name, so—"

"Alright, alright, I get it, your memory of that night is good." Carla said, fighting off a smile. She was honestly flattered that he had so many details memorized. Stanley raised an eyebrow at her triumphantly.

"Can _you_ remember it that well?"

Carla cracked her knuckles and leaned back in her chair, kicking her bunny-slipper clad feet on the table. "It was June…12th, a Saturday night. We were fifteen, so that would make it 1965. You were wearing a dorky bowtie and I was wearing my favorite poodle skirt. You…if I'm remembering correctly, which I'm sure I am, you were wearing cologne you'd snatched from your dad, and it smelled really strong. I could smell it when I kissed you on the cheek as a thank you. I snuck lipstick that my friend Vinnie gave me out of the house, because Mom didn't want me wearing makeup, and it left a pink mark on your cheek. I kissed you on the cheek again when you dropped me off at home. Then after I got inside I realized I hadn't gotten your name, but it was okay because I say you again at the boardwalk when I was out with friends. And, uh…" She chuckled at the memory. "I started jumping up and down and calling out to you, and you looked so embarrassed…" She began to laugh fully. "Your face turned beet red! And Ford was looking around because he was sure that I wasn't yelling at you, but I was, and…" She gave into her laughter and broke off. Stanley began to laugh too, blushing as he had on that day on the boardwalk. Carla loved it when he blushed; it turned the tips of his ears pink.

"Okay, I'll admit that was pretty impressive…how'd you remember the exact date?"

"I kept a diary in high school, so…yeah. I like to know the anniversaries of things."

"Awww, you had a crush on me…"

"Stan, we're dating."

"Yeah, still…"

Carla laughed. Then she caught sight of the clock.

"Hey, isn't today a work day for us?"

Stan turned and looked at the clock, and his eyes widened.

"Crap!" He sprang from his seat and began to run to the stairs. "All hands on deck!"

"There's only two of us!"

"Then there needs to be exactly four hands on deck!"

Carla shook her head and smiled, rising from her seat.

"And the debate about the journals still isn't over, young lady!" Stan's voice came from upstairs. Carla groaned. Why was he so hung up on this? It was a pointless argument! She looked at the journal still lying on the table.

She had to admit, there was something…very, very vaguely familiar about it, but…nothing huge. It was just a beat up looking journal. That persistent little voice in the very back of her mind wormed it's way in: _Something's wrong something's wrong something's MISSING—_

She brushed it off, just as she had the night before. She had a work day ahead of her. Besides, she had Stanley to worry about.

The shop was a little busier than usual; Stan could hazard a guess that this had something to do with it being a long weekend off of school.

He was leading a rather large group around The Murder Hut on a tour, but his mind was miles away from anything he was presenting.

What had happened to his girlfriend? Why was she so sure about there being no journals, no portal? Had she hit her head? Was it some cruel joke? No, it couldn't be a joke, Carla would never be cruel like that…

He probably seemed crazy to her. That idea hurt; Carla thinking he was crazy. Crazy in a legitimately insane way, anyway.

He resolved to show her the portal later. It would be a rude wake-up call, but hopefully put an end to this whole thing. Or…would it? Carla had accepted him, hell, even still loved him after she learned the truth the first time, but…would she the second time?

"Sir? Are you alright? You just sorta…trailed off in the middle of your sentence."

Stan blinked and looked at the speaker, an adolescent looking girl. He put on his infomercial grin.

"I'm just fine, little lady! Now, where were we? Ah, yes, as you can see here, I have the mysterious Sascrotch…"

Still, his mind buzzed on in the background. He would have to reintroduce her into the world of missing journals and broken portals, sooner or later. He could only hope she would still love him when he did.


	14. Trip to Greasy's Diner

When he led the group into the gift shop, Carla was already ringing someone up at the counter. From what Stan could tell, they were both happily chatting about the autumn weather that was beginning to descend upon the town. He silently hated himself, knowing he was going to pop her blissful bubble of oblivion and bring her back into reality soon.

"Excuse me."

Stan turned to see an elderly lady standing in front of him, holding a bottle of purple, starry looking liquid. "What exactly is this?"

"Why that, Madame, is a potion that can…" He stole a glance at Carla to see if she was listening, and raised his voice slightly "…improve your memory! Say that—" He walked over to the counter where Carla was, and pulled her from behind it gently. "—this beautiful woman here was remembering something incorrectly! She could drink this tonic and BAM! Memories improved!" He spread his arms out in a grand gesture, making sure not to smack a very confused Carla in the face.

In all honesty, the stuff was grape juice with edible glitter in it. But the old lady didn't have to know that.

"Oh, well for a woman of my age, you know this is usef—"

"Ha, hang on, it actually does more than that!" Carla piped up. Stan raised an eyebrow at her. What the hell was she doing? Carla continued. "This potion can also help cure denial-driven madness!"

"Oh?" The woman asked, genuinely curious.

"Yeah! Say that you're really deep in denial about something, say, I dunno, the death of a loved one, and you've gotten to the point where you're making up fantastical stories to avoid facing reality, and while you're loved ones still love you and want desperately to help you, you're starting to scare them. Well, take this potion, and you should be facing reality in no time!"

Stan felt his face heat up. _She really thinks I'm crazy._

"Well, this sounds like a very multi-purpose pot—"

"Woah, wait, that's not it." Stan cut in. He knew he was about to start something he would regret, but as always, he didn't care. "Say that you're making someone feel like crap by insisting that they're crazy, when _you're_ the one suddenly remembering four months of your life wrong—"

"No, no, say that you're making the person who is madly in love with you worried that she should take you to see a psychiatrist, which she'd be more than willing to do if she thinks it'll help—"

"Say that you're making the person who's madly in love right back think you're on the verge of leaving them again—"

"Say that you're starting to scare me and your fierce insistence of this whole thing is making me wonder whether I _should_ leave—"

"SAY THAT YOU SHOWED UP OUT OF THE BLUE AND SPENT FOUR MONTHS MAKING ME THINK EVERYTHING CAN GO BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS BEFORE BREAKING MY HEART AGAIN!" Stanley shouted, anger overflowing. Carla's eyes widened, and her mouth was still open, looking like she was going to say something. She closed her mouth quickly and glared, her cheeks flushing slightly. The old woman looked between the two of them.

"A-Are we still talking about the potion, or…?"

"I'm clocking out for the day." Carla said curtly. "Stan, just sell this poor woman your glittery grape juice." With that, she turned quickly and exited the store.

Stan stood in shock for a minute. What the hell had he done?

"Um…sir? Are you okay?"

"I…uh...shop's closed."

"Sir?"

"SHOP'S CLOSED, EVERYBODY!"

When he ran outside, her car was already gone. He slapped a hand to his forehead. This was what he got for not shutting his big mouth.

"Dammit, dammit, _dammit…_ "

The regret of what he'd said had already cooled him down, but he knew her, and knew she probably needed a little bit of time. He sighed. He'd give it thirty minutes, then go try to find her and apologize.

Carla slid into the diner bench angrily and put her elbows on the table with a 'thump'. Letting out a long sigh, she flipped open the menu in front of her hard enough to tear it a little. Wincing, she flattened it back out and composed herself.

What the hell was she doing that was 'breaking his heart'? What had prompted _that_ outburst from him? She froze, her own words echoing back at her.

" _You're starting to scare me and your fierce insistence of this whole thing is making me wonder whether I should leave…"_

Holy crap! How could she say that?! She wasn't planning on leaving! With a groan, she buried her face in her hands. She really needed to start thinking before she spoke, instead of just getting angry and shouting the first thing that she thought would hurt someone…

She removed her face from her hands when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Looking up, she was met with a smiling, brown-haired waitress.

"Hey, there, hon! Can I get you anything?"

Carla's hand flew to her pocket to make sure her wallet was there; it was.

"Uh, yes please…" She smiled and looked at the waitress's nametag. "Susan."

"Ah, you can call me 'Lazy Susan' if you'd like! Everyone 'round here has been, lately!"

"Oh!" Carla thought that seemed a little rude, but Susan seemed proud of the nickname. "A-Alright. Uh…I'd like a sweet tea, please."

"Sure thing!" Susan jotted the order down, then happened to glance out the window. "Oh, dear! Is that cute little car out there yours?"

"The blue one? Yeah."

"That's a pretty nasty dent! When did that happen?"  
"What? My car doesn't have a—" Carla turned to look out the window at her car and stopped. Sure enough, there was a considerable dent in the front of it, and one of the front lights were cracked. "When…? I have no idea when that happened!"

"Oh dear…well, I know a guy who's real good fixing that sort of thing!"

The bell to the diner rang, and Susan and Carla both turned to look.

"Ah, there he is now!" Susan chirped happily.

Walking into the diner was a man with incredibly messy blond-gray hair and stubble. He was wearing a jacket that looked like it had been half-eaten by moths already. He smiled when he saw Susan.

"Hey there, S-Susan! Good to see you again!"

"You too, Fiddleford!" Susan smiled at him as she walked away from Carla, back to the kitchen.

A knot inexplicably formed in Carla's stomach when she looked at Fiddleford. He looked…very vaguely familiar, in the way that one can remember a very distant nightmare they had as a small child. Not so much having a memory connected to it, but a feeling of unease. Under the table, she clutched at the fabric of her pants. Fiddleford made a sort of weird face when he saw her. For a brief second, he looked almost…sorry? Then he just looked a little confused. He took a seat in one of the stools at the bar, far away from Carla's seat.

Carla buried her face in her menu and tried to avoid looking at him. Behind the menu, she opted instead to look out the window at the dent in her car. When had that gotten there? Why hadn't she noticed before? Her eyes widened with realization. Had she gotten into a wreck, and that was why she and Stanley had conflicting memories? Holy crap, did she have _amnesia_?

There was a gentle rapping on the table. She looked up from her menu and saw Stanley standing there, looking at her sheepishly.

"This seat taken?"

Carla raised an eyebrow. "Depends. You wanna take it?"

Stanley gave her a nervous smile and sat down.

"Look…Carla…about me yelling at you back there, I—"

"Stan, you don't have to apologize. I…I shouldn't have told you I'm planning on leaving. It was mean and unnecessary and untrue, and I'm sorry."

Stanley's eyes lit up. "Wait…you're not actually considering leaving?"

"No, of course not! I was angry, and I said the first hurtful thing that came to mind. You know how I get when I'm pissed…"

Stanley chuckled, and he sounded relieved. "Carla, I still wanna apologize for yelling at you. I was out of line, and I shouldn't have gotten angry with you. I'm really sorry, doll."

Carla smiled warmly at him and reached across the table to hold his hand. He looked pleasantly surprised, and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

"How bout we just agree to forgive each other for bein' a couple of hot-headed loud mouths?"

Stanley laughed. "Why would I wanna forgive you for that? That's one of the reasons I fell for you!"

Carla felt her face heat up, and she laughed. "You're such a flatterer."

"You complainin'?"

"Not in the slightest."

Susan came back to the table, and grinned when she saw Stan. "It's you, the no-longer-mysterious scientist from the woods!"

Stanley grinned back. "That's me, Stanford Pines! How's, uh…?" He gestured to his eye. "How's that doin'?"

"Oh, the doctor says it's probably permanent!"

"…I'm sorry to hear that."

Out of the corner of her eye, Carla saw a flurry of movement. Fiddleford had spun around in his chair, and was now staring at Stanley with a deer in the headlights look. Carla felt a pit of icy fear in her stomach, though she couldn't put her finger on why. She just knew suddenly and surely that she needed to protect Stanley.

"Hey, Stan, can we head home? Like, now?"

"But we haven't ordered—"

"I changed my mind. I wanna eat at home. Please?"

He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when he saw the desperate look on her face.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure thing, sweetie."

He rose to his feet, and helped Carla to hers. "See you around, Lazy Susan."

"Alright, come again, you man of mystery! And…miss mystery!"

"Ooh, I like that!" Stan said happily. Carla was focusing too much energy on forcing herself not to shake like a leaf to reply.

They took Carla's car back home; Stan had walked to the diner. As soon as they closed the front door behind them, Stanley was guiding Carla to a chair.

"Baby, what's wrong? Why were you in such a rush to leave?"

"I…I just felt a little sick, suddenly."

"You still feeling sick?"

"No, I'm feeling a lot better now." Carla gave him a sweet smile. "I'm better now that it's just us."

Stanley gave her an incredibly happy grin. Before he could say anything, Carla's mouth was on his. After the long day, the fight in the gift shop, the unexplained dent in her car, her unease around the man in the diner…she needed something pleasant to make up for it.

Stanley made a surprised noise, but quickly reciprocated, gently pushing hair away from her face for better access. Carla was playing with his hair like she always did when they made out, causing him to hum appreciatively. He pulled away from the kiss and moved on to her neck, causing her to let out a soft gasp. She'd always been sensitive there.

"Stanley…I love you…"

"Mm, love you too, Carla…love you so goddamn much…"

Carla slid her hands up his shirt, causing him to let out a "Heyyy there…", making her giggle. She ran her hands along his back, one hand brushing over the slightly raised skin on the back of one of his shoulders. She sighed sympathetically.

"Your burn mark hurting you any nowadays?"

Stanley stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he pulled away from her to stare at her with wide, hopeful eyes. Carla raised an eyebrow at him, slightly irked by the loss of his lips on her neck. "What's up? Was…was that not a sexy question?"

"What did you call it?"

"Call what?"

"The mark on my shoulder. What did you just call it?"

"Your burn mark…?"

He let out a laugh, sounding a little hysterical. Carla scooted a little away from him. "You feeling alright, babe?"

"Yes! Carla, how did I get this burn mark?"

"Well, you…you…um…" Carla's mind blanked, and she furrowed her brows in concern. "You…" She stared at Stan with wide eyes. "You and Ford…got in a fight…"

"Yeah? And then?"

"You…decked him, and…" Her hand flew to her temple, her head beginning to hurt again, but she didn't back down this time. "And…you accidentally pushed him into a portal."

Stan began to laugh fully, looking incredibly relieved. "YOU REMEMBER! HALLELUJAH!"

Carla was reeling. "You…portal…journals…oh my god…I remember…"

"It's good to have you back, Carla! Baby, you had me worried!"

Carla let out a small, hysterical laugh. "I remember! Stan, I remember! Ford isn't dead! Thank Jesus, Ford isn't dead! I _remember_!"

The two of them were laughing, tears in both their eyes, and Stanley threw his arms around his girlfriend. The laughter finally died down, but he kept his arms around her. The two sat in silence for a while, before Carla asked what they were both thinking.

"Why did I forget in the first place?"


	15. Trip to the Museum

"Well, Ms. McCorkle, I'm not seeing any head trauma…if you'd hit your head hard enough to have amnesia, you'd have at least a bruise, but there's no mark here." The doctor said calmly, jotting something down on his clipboard.

"Well, doc, what do you think it could be?" Stan asked, concerned.

"I'm not sure…have you been taking any illegal substances, Ms. McCorkle?"

"Not…in recent memory, no…"

"Then I've got nothing."

Carla and Stan both let out frustrated sighs. It was good that Carla didn't have any brain injuries, but it meant there were still in the dark about what had caused her sudden memory loss.

"Well, thank you for seeing me, sir…"

"Of course, ma'am. Now, about payment…"

Stanley had grabbed Carla's hand and fled the room before the doctor could finish his sentence.

In the car, Stanley cast Carla a concerned glance while he drove.

"What exactly _do_ you remember?"

"I remember you faking your death, I remember the journals, I remember the portal…but I still don't remember why I forgot! Or why I was at the museum! Or where the goddamned dent in my car came from!" She sank down in her seat with a sigh and pouted at the dashboard. Stan took one hand off the wheel to take one of hers and give it a comforting squeeze. Carla offered a half-hearted smile, and turned to look out the window.

That unexplainable knot formed in her stomach again as she spotted the man on the sidewalk. It was Fiddleford, the man from the diner who had made her feel so antsy. Carla's hand instantly flew to her stomach, and she felt guilty; he was probably a perfectly sweet person, and here she was getting all nervous when he hadn't done a thing to her. Or…had he?

They were stopped at a red light, so Carla knew she wasn't risking their lives when she began frantically hitting Stan on the arm.

"What?! What is it?!"

"Stan! I think that's the guy!"

"What guy?"

"The guy that put the dent in my car!"

Stan's body language instantly went on the aggressive, and he looked to where Carla was trying to subtly gesture.

"How do you know?"

"I've just…I've just got this _feeling_. Besides, when he saw me at the diner, he looked kinda guilty for a moment, like he's wronged me somehow. That's gotta be the guy!"

"Well then lemme get outta the car and go talk to this guy…"

"Stan, no! Just let him be for now…"

"He hit your car hard enough to break one of the lights! He coulda killed you!"

"But he didn't. Don't you dare go beat him up. He looks half your weight, you'd break him."

"I wasn't gonna…"

"Stanley."

"Okay, maybe." The light turned green, and Stan began to drive again; but not before casting a final dirty look at Fiddleford. Fiddleford didn't notice, too busy staring at the ground and wringing his hands. Carla tried not to stare, feeling intense pity for him.

"You startin' to remember anything else, doll? Walk me through your day, how about that?"

"Um…you left to go journal-hunting in the woods. I got in my car and went to buy the stuff you said we needed. I…I remember I passed the antique store, and…" Her eyes widened. "CRAP!"

Her outburst caused Stan to jump, and quickly veer the car to the side of the road.

"What the hell is it?"

"I HAD IT!"

"Wh-What, you had the memory, or-?"

"NO, THE GODDAMNED JOURNAL!"

Stanley's eyes widened, and he paled a little. "What do you…?"

"I had Journal 2! I had it in my hands! I _had_ it, goddammit!"

"You're sure?! W-Where did you find it?"

"The antique store! I bought it at the antique store! And then someone took it!"

"Who took it?! Carla, who took it?!"

"I…I don't know! After that, the last thing I remember is you finding me in front of the museum!"

Oh, this was _huge_. They had a chance at being a step closer to saving Ford! All they had to do was find the journal thief…

"Carla."

"Yeah?"

"I think it's a good day to go to the museum, don't you?"

"You read my mind, Pines."

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the Gravity Falls Museum of History. Other than the fact it was somehow less exciting than most museums.

Stan and Carla were not really…museum people. They'd both spent museum time with Ford before, but the both of them had attention spans too short for that sort of thing voluntarily. They walked down the main hallway, trying to look unsuspicious. Under his breath, Stan hummed the Mission Impossible theme. Carla whistled along.

"See anything familiar? Anything…stirring up memories?"

"Not yet…so far, it's just a regular old museum. Though it feels kind of like the wax figures are watching me."

"Eesh, yeah…"

They approached a pioneer exhibit, where a museum worker was standing. When she saw Carla, she guiltily looked away. Both Stan and Carla noticed, and exchanged a look.

"Excuse me, miss…?"

"Uh, Thorne. Miss Rosie Thorne."

"Wow, really?" Stan asked. Carla nudged him in the side.

"Well, Miss Thorne, I was wondering if you've seen anything…suspicious around this museum lately."

Rosie looked uncomfortable, but tried not to be obvious about it.

"Ummm…uh…define 'suspicious'."

"You know, like…shady. Supernatural, possible?"

"Uhhhhhh…did you know that pioneers were some of the first settlers in North America?"

Carla raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Noooo…I didn't."

"Well! Now you do!"

"You never answered my question, Rosie."

Rosie's eyes widened. "Uh, well, there's nothing suspicious here. I'll tell you that. Nope. Not this museum! Especially not after dark!"

"After dark?" Stan asked.

"…coming! Sorry, my boss is calling me." With that, Rosie scurried off to a boss that didn't call her. Stan and Carla turned to each other.

"After dark, huh?"

"That is when you found me outside the museum, isn't it?"

"Yeah…"

"Well then…" Carla said slyly. "I guess we know what we have to do, then."

"Hell yeah…this gives me an excuse to wear my break-in gloves."

"Oh shoot, I don't have mine anymore…would gardening gloves work, you think?"

"Oh, yeah. Those'll work."

"Alright, then!"

They agreed quietly, so none of the museum workers could hear them, to come back after dark. Maybe then they might be able to fill in some missing puzzle pieces.


	16. Night at the Museum (but not the movie)

The evening agenda was a casual dinner at Greasy's Diner, followed by breaking into the Gravity Falls Museum of History.

Walking down Main Street, Stan slid his hand into Carla's. She shot him a sympathetic look.

"Nervous?"

"Me? Nervous? You kiddin'? Nah, I'm just…making sure you're not."

Carla chuckled. "Thanks, sweetie. Been a while since your last break-in, huh?"

"Yeah…after the last one, I wound up…well, you remember."

Carla sighed and nodded. She could clearly remember the agonizing months in Columbia, waiting for him to be released from La Modelo, a _very_ violent prison in Bogotá. That was just about the only time she'd truly been grateful to her mother for forcing her to learn Spanish. One thing was for certain: She'd definitely never forget how to say 'my boyfriend is an idiot' in Spanish.

"If it's any consolation, maybe American prison isn't as brutal! If we get caught, at least you'll understand what your cellmate is saying."

"That…isn't a consolation. I've been to American prison."

"Woah, really? When?"

"Eh, about a year or so after you left. Got busted in a credit card scheme with a few other guys."

"Jesus."

"Yeah…"

They were at the museum before they knew it. Stanley put his gloves on.

"Okay, thankfully there's no guard out front. Now, what we wanna do is go through a window on the side of the building. They were dumb enough not to put any cameras are alarms over there—"

"How do you know?"

"I checked earlier today."

"Ah, okay. Smart man."

"Heh. I know. Anyway, we need to get in through there. I'll hoist you up, since you're small."

"I'm 5"7!"

"Like I said, small."

"Oh, everything's small to you, Mister 6"1."

"Yeah, especially you. I'll lift you up, then hop in after you. After that, we just gotta avoid security cameras, and we can find out what's up with the museum."

"Sounds like a plan, Stan."

They tried to walk inconspicuously to the side of the building and, as planned, Stanley lifted Carla up to crawl in through the window, with him following close behind. Once inside, they both straightened their clothes and smiled deviously at each other.

"You've got your gloves on, right, Stan?"

"Yeah. You?"

Carla responded by waving happily, displaying her sunflower-patterned gardening gloves. She'd always had a passion for all things flowers; it was hard not to when your mother was a florist.

The two looked around. The museum was dark, save for the dim lights under the exhibits, illuminating them from below. The lights gave the building an eerie feeling, bringing attention to the wax settler figures and dead-eyed taxidermy staring at the two intruders. Both Stan and Carla shuddered.

"Okay, let's start exploring." Carla whispered. Stanley nodded and gestured for her to lead.

"Ladies first."

"Why, thank you." She began to walk down the hall, avoiding looking at the exhibits, and tried to force her heart rate to steady. It'd been years since she'd snuck in anywhere after hours, and the thrill of it really got her blood flowing. She reached a hand back and grasped Stanley's, squeezing it for assurance that he was there.

"You seein' anything creepy yet? Besides the exhibits?"

"No...nothing ye—"

She froze mid-sentence at the sound of footsteps around the corner, preceded by the unmistakable glow of a flashlight. Carla's eyes widened, and she frantically waved at Stanley to hide. They both scurried behind the nearest exhibit, just as the flashlight shone around the corner.

Carla could barely see from behind the giant taxidermied bear she'd dove behind, but she could make out the face of a woman behind the flashlight. She squinted, before her eyes lit up in recognition; it was Rosie Thorne, the museum worker who'd acted so suspicious earlier. She was walking slowly down the hall, scanning back and forth with alert eyes. She was also wearing deep, scarlet robes that were slightly too big for her. They looked…somehow familiar to Carla, but she didn't know where she'd seen them before. Rosie passed them closely enough for them to hear that she was humming under her breath. She didn't notice them, however, and she kept walking slowly, oblivious.

Then Stanley sneezed. Loudly.

Carla knew he couldn't help it, but for a split second, she wanted to smack her boyfriend, even as he shot her an incredibly apologetic look.

The flashlight was shining in their faces nearly instantly, and they both blinked against it. Rosie stared down at them with a very serious expression, the kind a teacher gave a student whom they'd caught passing notes.

"What are you two doing here? You can't be here."

"Uh…no hablo Inglés?" Carla ventured timidly. Rosie glared at her.

"You…you're that girl, aren't you?"

"You're…gonna have to be more specific."

"That girl that we…" Rosie trailed off. "I'm going to have to ask you two to come with me."

Stanley scoffed. "And why should we do that? You're the size of a mouse, I don't have to take orders from you."

From beneath her robe, Rosie produced a very strange looking gun. She pointed it directly between Carla's eyes.

"Come with me. Now."

Stanley didn't backtalk her after that.

Rosie led them at gun-point into a rather large room that neither Stanley nor Carla had been aware the museum even had. In the room were other people in scarlet robes, though unlike Rosie, they had their faces covered by their hoods. They turned to the trio as they entered the room, and Stanley and Carla both tensed. There was just something so unnerving about being looked at by someone whose face you couldn't see. Beneath the hood of one of the taller hoods, a warm, Southern voice spoke up.

"Rosie, what is the meaning of this?"

"I found these trespassers hiding behind Barry the Bear in the Oregon Trail exhibit, doctor."

Stanley shot Carla a confused look from beneath the hair that had fallen over his face and mouthed 'Who names taxidermy?". Carla shrugged.

"But why bring them here? W-Why not just escort them off the premises?" The hooded man asked.

"B-Because, sir, we've already erased the woman's mind once before. She must've remembered somehow, though."

"We…we have?"

"Yes, sir, just the other day."

"Oh…I-I can't seem to recall…well, good job, Rosie. Uh…" He sighed. "Well, then, you two…I s-suppose I can't let you leave and all that…"

Stanley's body language instantly went aggressive, like it did when he boxed.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do to keep us here?"

Rosie aimed her strange gun at the back of Carla's head.

"Sit down or I zap her right now."

Carla tried to pull away from Rosie, but she was holding Carla's arm with a grip much stronger than she looked capable of. Stanley paled a little and sat down in a nearby chair quickly, with no further complaints. Rosie dug the gun slightly into the back of Carla's head, though Carla could barely feel it through her thick hair.

"You sit down, too."

Carla sat down in a seat next to Stanley as angrily as possible, and shot Rosie a spiteful look. The hooded man, whom Carla could only assume was the leader, advanced towards them.

"Now, uh…y-y'all just keep calm, all right? I'd like you to k-know we don't normally do this sorta thing, but…" He was wringing his hands. "When certain situations arise…"

Carla knew that voice. She _knew_ it from somewhere, but where?

With an angry sigh, Stanley pushed the hair out of his face.

"Look, bucko, can you just explain-?"

" _YOU."_

The man's voice was venomous, and Stanley jumped in surprise. The man whipped the hood away from his face, and Carla and Stanley both gasped.

"Fiddleford?! Fiddleford McGucket?!" Carla exclaimed. In hindsight, it seemed kind of obvious, but now was not the time for hindsight.

Fiddleford was staring at Stanley with a wild expression, and Stan was glancing around uncomfortably.

"Uh…heh. Can anyone explain to me what this guy's problem is?"

No one offered any help. They merely stood by as their leader whipped a control out of his robes and pressed it. Instantly, restraints sprang from the chairs that Stanley and Carla were sitting in, trapping them.

"H-Hey! What the hell?!"  
"What is this?!"

A smirk briefly jumped on Fiddleford's face.

"I-I'm pretty good at building things like this. Though you would know that, wouldn't ya, _Stanford_?"

Stan's eyes widened. "O-Oh. That's your problem."

Fiddleford was seething. "You know damn well what my problem is, Pines."

"Look, buddy, I'm not—" He glanced around at the room of robed people nervously. It struck Carla that he wasn't sure about revealing his true identity in front of all these people. But what choice did he have at the moment?

Fiddleford was messing with the gun in his hand already, his hands shaking.

"I reckon you haven't seen this particular invention of mine? Then again, I dunno how much of a kick you'd get from it, considerin' you always seemed a little underwhelmed by my inventions. Why wouldn't ya be? I mean, personal computers are nothin' compared to the end of the world!"

"End of the world? I don't know what you're talking—"

"Don't try to pull that with me! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Carla was getting déjà vu vibes. Stan was obviously scanning his brain for what Fiddleford could be talking about.

"Are you…are you talking about the…the portal?" His eyes widened. "Wait, are you 'F'?!"

Fiddleford stared at him for a few moments in complete silence. Then he burst out laughing, and it was not a pleasant sound. Stanley and Carla both sat in terrified silence. Fiddleford's manic laughter finally died down after a few minutes, and he fixed his eyes on Carla.

"Now how did you get mixed up in this whole situation, hon?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doin' getting involved with Stanford?"

"I-I'm his girlfriend."

Fiddleford raised his eyebrows and turned to Stan.

"Huh. Never took you for a ladies' man, Stanford."

"What can I say, I'm a handsome devil." Stanley joked, in a last-ditch effort to appeal to Fiddleford. Fiddleford didn't even crack a smile.

"A-Alright then, I'll start with you, hon."

"Start with me? What do you mean?"

"I'm savin' the world…it all ends here. This whole portal business ends _here._ " Fiddleford was pointing his device at Carla, his hand shaking as he did so.

"I don't understand—"

"I'm erasin' the portal from your memories…oh, don't look so frightened! It'll all be better this way!"

Carla had already started jerking at her restraints, feeling like a wounded animal trying to make it's escape as the hunter approached.

"No. Stop. STOP! You CAN'T!"

"Hey! Cut it the hell out! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Stanley had started to jerk at his restraints, too, launching into panic mode. "DON'T YOU DARE HURT HER!"  
"I ain't gonna _hurt_ her, Ford. I'm just cleaning her mind of the nightmare that you invented." A look of regret passed his face. "That _we_ invented."

"I'M NOT FORD!" Stanley yelled desperately. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at him.

"Pardon?"

"I'm not Ford! I'm Stanley Pines, I'm his twin brother!"

Fiddleford blinked at him. "Ford—Ford doesn't have a twin brother."

"Yes he does! And I'm him!"

"I-I don't need any more of your lies, Stanford. I've fallen for them once already…" He turned a knob on the gun, and it made a noise like it was powering up. Carla jerked away from him violently.

"STOP IT! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"LEAVE HER ALONE!"

"SIR, STOP!"

The three of them turned to the source of the outburst, and to their surprise, found Rosie. She was standing a little away from the rest of the hooded figures, and her expression was one of sympathy.

"I'm sorry sir, but…they seem really distressed, I don't think this is the right thing to do."

"Miss Thorne, you don't understand. These two are in possession of knowledge th-they should not have—"

"But sir. Isn't this Society supposed to help people?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"I don't think you're helping them. I think you should let them go."

Stanley and Carla exchanged a surprised look. Their captor was sticking up for them. Fiddleford, however, looked a bit like a caged animal.

"D-Does anyone else feel this way?"

The other hooded figures looked around at one another, and most of them shrugged. On the fence was still better than on Fiddleford's side, though.

"Y-Y'all don't understand. None of y'all have seen the things I've seen. Th-The monsters, the…" His breathing had become shallow, and he looked distressed. His grip on the gun loosened, and both Stanley and Carla looked at it warily. "The things I keep tryin' to forget…the things I _want_ to forget…" He gave Stanley a withering look. "The things you subjected me to…"

Stan looked away from him uncomfortably. Carla couldn't imagine what on earth Ford had done to make Fiddleford so angry; she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Rosie took a step forward.

"Sir, I think it's best if—"

"Don't touch me. Don't you come any c-closer, or…" He held the gun up. Rosie quickly took a step back.

"Sir, please…"

"Mr. McGucket, please listen to her…" Carla joined in pleadingly. Stan wisely kept his mouth shut.

"No, no, he's the reason…everything that's been happening to me, the nightmares, the guilt, everything…" There were tears in Fiddleford's eyes, and he was shaking violently. "I just want to forget…"

"Dr. McGucket, please…"

"I JUST WANT TO FORGET!"

As Fiddleford screamed it, a blast of blue light shot out of the gun. No one was sure whether he meant to pull the trigger or not, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that it had been pulled. The robed followers, including Rosie, hit the floor, and Stan and Carla ducked their heads. The ray bounced around the room for a few terrifying seconds before hitting someone. When everyone looked up, it was obvious who the victim had been.

Fiddleford was standing there, looking incredibly dazed, swaying on his feet a little. Somehow, his eyes seemed even more blue than they had before. A few of his followers walked over to him cautiously. Rosie, however, ran over to Stan and Carla.

"C'mon, you two need to go, now." She retracted their restraints and helped them both to their feet, ushering them to the door. From the small crowd of hooded figures, they could hear Fiddleford laughing hysterically.

Rosie pushed them out into the hall, outside the room.

"Forget you saw this place, please. I don't…I don't want anything else like this to happen."

"Thank you…thank you so much…" Carla said gratefully, grasping Rosie's hand and squeezing.

"Why'd you help us?" Stanley asked. Rosie looked sheepish.

"I joined this society to help people, not…" She sighed. "I don't like what it's starting to become. Let's just say that."

Stan nodded understandingly, and Carla smiled.

"Thank you again…"

"Don't mention it. Seriously, please, don't mention it. I have three kids at home, I don't need word getting to them that their mom is part of a shady society."

Both Stanley and Carla chuckled and nodded at her. The smile slid off Rosie's face, and she pushed them again.

"Now seriously, go. Get out of here."

Stan and Carla ran, this time not looking out for security cameras, right out the front door and down the steps. Surprisingly, the front door wasn't locked inside.

Standing on the sidewalk outside the museum, the two stared at each other. That night had brought more questions than answers, and…this time, neither of them really wanted answers. Carla sighed tiredly, breaking the silence.

"Can we go home?"

"Yes, please."


	17. A Familiar Face

As they walked home, the weight of their discovery descended slowly upon them like a fog. A really heavy fog. The longer they walked, the more upset Stanley looked.

By the time they got home, he looked absolutely miserable.

"It's gone."

"Stanley…"

"It's _gone,_ Carla. There's no way in hell we're getting that journal."

"D-Don't say that…there's always—"

"We have no idea who has it! The bastards had hoods over their faces, I dunno who the hell any of them are! Do _you_?"

"I…no, I don't…"

"Carla, c'mon, you gotta remember _one_ of them! _Any_ of them! _Think!_ " He looked ready to break something.

"Stanley, I'm _trying!_ Quit yelling at me!"

Stanley groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Carla, I just…" He sighed. Carla timidly reached out her hand and took his.

"Sit down with me."

They sat on the couch practically in synch, facing each other.

"Stanley. We're probably not going to find Journal 2 any time soon. Let's just…be realistic about something, for once."

Stanley looked even more miserable, and Carla felt a pang of empathy. She wanted Ford back, too. She understood.

"But, let's…let's not lose hope, yeah? I mean…think about what we've figured out with just one! Heck, before I got here you managed to repair, like, ten buttons on the control panel! You're _smart_ , Stanley."

Stan snorted incredulously. Carla continued.

"We're both good with this sort of thing. I mean, how many times have we had to fix The Stanley Mobile, huh?"

"That's a _car_ , this is a _portal_."

"A portal that we've already made progress on! We can't give up."

"I wasn't planning on giving up." Stan's eyes were downcast. "I wouldn't do that to Ford."

"I know." Carla took his hands in hers. "Me neither."

Stanley let out a shaky sigh, and Carla brought his hand to her lips, kissing it softly.

"We'll get through this, Stanley. Together."

"…thanks, Carla."

The shop didn't really need to be open tomorrow. They could probably live without an extra day's profit.

Stanley walked around town alone, letting his thoughts bounce around in his head. He carried a Walkman with him, the only sound in his world currently being the comforting voices of The Beach Boys.

Spending time with Carla was one of his favorite ways to spend time, but he needed to be alone once in a while. She understood.

A cool breeze blew down the street, and Stanley shivered a little under his thin shirt. It wasn't quite August, and Gravity Falls was already starting to cool down for fall. Everything about the town was just…slightly off, in Stanley's opinion. He had no clue why his brother had fallen so in love with the town. He didn't understand why Carla was falling in love with it, either. But, he had to admit…one could make a quick buck in a town so densely populated with morons.

He let out a long sigh without meaning to, and hit the rewind button on his Walkman. "Wouldn't It Be Nice" began again, the overly cheery tune contrasting his mood dramatically. He didn't mean to let himself get so worked up, but he couldn't shake the feeling of hopelessness that had settled on him the night before.

He found himself passing the museum, and scowled. Stupid secret society with their stupid memory gun and their stupid maniac leader and their stupid—

Rosie Thorne. She was standing at the front entrance, smiling sweetly at the family walking in. She looked just as she had the night before, minus the creepy robe. A spark of hope ignited in Stanley's chest; maybe she knew who had the journal.

It couldn't hurt to ask.

Hitting 'pause' on his Walkman, Stan began to walk up the staircase, trying to keep the excitement from his step. As he approached, Rosie gave him a smile, which quickly morphed into a concerned look.

"Hello…can I help you, sir?"

"Rosie. Look. I know you already helped us, but I gotta ask you somethin'."

His voice was hushed, terrified that some other society member might hear him. Rosie raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry…have we met?"

Stanley's heart dropped.

"Uh…Rosie, it's me, Stanley. From last night?"

Rosie's raised eyebrow traveled farther upwards. "Sir, I was at home last night."

"…o-oh. Right. I, uh, must've mistook you for someone else. Uh. Bye."

He began to walk back down the stairs, and he could hear her voice behind him.

"Wait, how did you know my name?"

"…nametag."

"I'm not wearing a—"

"Have a nice day."

He could just imagine it. He could just imagine what went down after he and Carla ran from the museum. Could imagine Rosie getting her memory erased for standing up to the society. Their only lead to where Journal 2 might be: gone.

He hit 'play' on his Walkman. The Beach Boys began to serenade him once more.

' _Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long…'_

He hadn't thought this day could get any worse, yet here he was. He really needed to stop thinking things couldn't get any worse.

Carla wasn't exactly having an ideal day, either. She was walking down one of the aisles in the outdoor plant nursery of Gravity Falls' one grocery store, humming "Wouldn't It Be Nice" to herself. It was stuck in her head today, for whatever reason.

Flowers were both a pleasant distraction and a painful reminder to her. On the pro side, she adored flowers. She wore a flower pin in her hair practically every day. On the con side, her mother was a florist. And thinking about her mother for more than a few moments usually made her feel immensely guilty. After all, she had run away with Stanley when she was seventeen, leaving her parents to agonize over where their daughter could be; whether she was even dead or alive. As much of a pain in the ass her mother could be, Carla had no doubt that her mother loved her, in her own overbearing way.

But she needed a distraction after the events of last night. She could still practically hear the memory gun's shot bouncing off the walls, feel her heart racing as she waited for it to choose a victim. Her humming faltered at the memory, but she forced herself to continue.

A particularly vibrant shade of pink appeared in her peripheral, catching her eye instantly. Walking over to the pot of flowers, she let out a hushed "ooh…". She held up the pot's label, reading it quietly to herself.

"Achimenes 'Harry Williams'…nice." She also noted that it was only seven dollars. She and Stanley had made a nice little profit the week before, even with the issues going on behind the scenes; surely she could treat the house to a little decoration. Besides, she'd been wanting to start a garden.

She picked up the pot and smiled, holding it to her like a child. She couldn't wait to show Stanley! Where would be a good place to put it? There was always the spot beneath the kitchen window, or maybe even the dinner table…

Carla turned around to head to the check-out counter, and promptly ran smack into someone. She hit the ground with an 'oof!', dirt spilling from the pot and littering the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me help you out."

The speaker had a mellow voice, a soothing voice, a…familiar voice. Carla's head snapped up to look at him in surprise. A familiar face to match the familiar voice stared back at her.

"Flower-girl?" He asked quietly, looking as surprised as she.

"Thistle?"


	18. Her Second Love

Carla couldn't believe her eyes. Blinking didn't make him go away, no matter how hard she tried.

"Carla, I can't believe it's really you! It's been so long, flower-girl!"

"What are you doing in Gravity Falls."

It didn't even come out like a question. It was just…kind of a statement.

"You don't look much different. Still the curly haired wild child I remember…though I see you've lost the bell bottoms."

"What are you doing in Gravity Falls."

Thistle smiled and knelt down, scooping dirt back into the fallen flower pot.

"The group and I were just swinging through here on our journey."

"Journey?"

"Journey for the truth."

"Oh, Yeah. That."

God, she suddenly remembered in painstaking detail how pretentious Thistle was. He smiled at her, sickeningly sweet, and she felt her stomach turn. She felt like a bunny staring at a wolf, suddenly.

"Well, uh, this _has_ been quite the coincidence, but I really need to be getting home…"

"You live in this town?"

"…yeah."

She didn't know why, but she just couldn't lie to Thistle.

"That's really good to know, flower-girl. You know, I really wondered where you disappeared to. You just left in the middle of the night, you really worried me. I've been looking for you."

Carla's blood felt like ice at those words, but she suppressed a shudder.

"O-Oh, have you?"

"Yeah, what kind of guy wouldn't look for his missing girlfriend?"

Carla raised an eyebrow, cocked her hip, and placed a hand on it.

"Oh, so I was your _girlfriend_?"

"Why wouldn't you be?

"I don't know, why don't you ask Stacey, Linda, Amanda, and Louise?"

"Flower, I thought—"

"Don't call me that."

"Carla. I thought you embraced free love."

"Well…y-yeah, I do, but not _behind my back_. That sort of thing needs communication, and—and—"

Thistle was staring intensely at her with his unnervingly blue eyes, and she felt her words sticking in her throat. He'd always had a bit of a silencing effect on her.

"I'm sorry, Carla. You know I would never hurt you on purpose, don't you?"

"Hm."

"Look, what do you say you and I get lunch together, maybe catch up—"

"No! No, no, I'm in a relationship, Thistle. We're not doing that again."

Carla couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw Thistle's eyes flash.

"Oh, who are you in a relationship with?" His voice was calm, but it sounded a little strange. A calm masking a storm.

"I'm back together with Stanley, actually. And we're really happy, so—"

"Really? He forgave you for ditching him?"

Carla felt his words cut into her, but she ignored it. She deserved that, after all. She _had_ ditched Stanley.

"Yes, I was surprised, too." She said as snippily as possible. "Pleasantly."

She put the mostly refilled pot back on the shelf, her interest in it gone in favor of getting the hell out of there.

"Does he know?"

Carla froze in her tracks at Thistle's question.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you ever tell him?"

"I…goodbye, Thistle."

Carla walked away from him, hands shaking, heart pounding. His voice trailed serenely after her.

"See you later, flower-girl."

Carla could still remember the night she met Thistle clearly. Too clearly for her liking, as she'd really rather have forgotten everything about him as soon as she left him.

It had been 1975. She and Stanley had been together for ten years, on the road for seven. They were living in Louisiana—or, as they'd called it, the armpit of Louisiana, because where they were it was always unnaturally hot and humid. Stanley had been working his ass off to sell his latest product: The Stan Vac. Or at least, that's what Carla had thought he'd been doing. After the "incident" in Colombia, he'd sworn off crime at Carla's insistence; no more nights in prison, no more leaving her to worry herself sick. She'd thought he was keeping good on his promise. But in the words of her mother: "People like Stanley don't change. They just get better at hiding things."

It was a Monday night. Carla was getting used to the roller skates that The Juke Joint was making her wear, and she was feeling really cool gliding around the diner serving up burgers and fries.

She'd been leaning precariously over the counter to grab her order pad when she heard it. Hauntingly beautiful guitar music, flooding her senses and making her heart flutter. It was the kind of music that made you believe flying was possible, for just a moment. Carla had turned around then, curious, and seen him.

He'd been sitting on a stool on The Juke Joint's little stage. He strummed his guitar calmly, eyes closed as if he were playing himself to sleep. A sign was set up next to him: "Dimensional Healing with Thistle Downe". Carla hadn't even been aware that she'd needed healing until that moment, but, come to think of it…

She was very close to the stage before she even realized she was moving, but that was a benefit of the roller skates; you got there faster. Thistle had opened his eyes then, and they'd locked onto her. His eyebrows with up, and his jaw went down. Carla instantly felt very self-conscience. She'd just come up to talk and make a friend—her shifts got so lonely—but here he was looking at her like she was the hottest thing on the block. His song ended, and he was met with a spattering of applause from the diner's patrons. He'd smiled at Carla, sweetly.

"I like your flower."

"Hm? What?" Her hand flew to the flower pin in her hair. "Oh! Thanks, uh, Thistle." She'd wrinkled her nose a little. "Thistle your real name?"

"Better than the name I was given, let me assure you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I mean…"

He'd chuckled.

"So, performing. What's that like?"

"Oh, it's real spiritual, you know? Connecting with my audience, with—" He'd started intensely at her—"fellow souls like you."

Carla had felt her face grow hot. She wanted to say something, though she wasn't quite sure what. However, her boss had called her over then, so it didn't really matter.

"I'll be here tomorrow night, too." Thistle informed before she skated away.

"Awesome! See you then."

"See you then, flower-girl."

And he had been there the next night. And they talked after her shift, about their living situations and the people they lived with (Carla had bragged on Stanley until she was worried she was annoying Thistle), about what their goals were, about the economy and the president and what society was doing wrong. They were very enlightening conversations.

Stanley had come to dance with her after work on Wednesday night, and the two had a blast. Thistle sat on stage and messed with his guitar, and Carla had thought she might just be crazy at the time, but it felt like Thistle was watching them.

And then Thursday happened. Carla had to leave work early because Stanley had been arrested. Carla could still remember the conversation on the way to the apartment after bailing him out.

"I can't believe you."

"Carla…"

"No. I can't _believe_ you. You promised! You promised me no more crime, and what do you do?"

"….are you expecting me to answer, or is it rhetoric—"

"You steal a small ivory dragon statue from some woman's foyer! What were you thinking?!"

"…I was thinking that it looked like it was worth a lot."

"Oh my _god_ …."

"Look, Carla, it's not that big a deal…"

"Yes, it is! You broke your promise to me! That's a pretty big deal!" She'd winced as a sharp pain shot through her head; stress had reached its peak.

"Carla, I…"

"No. Don't talk to me right now, okay? I had to leave my shift super early, so…." She'd looked at the clock. "I still have time to get more work in today." She'd grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

Thistle had been at The Juke Joint.

Thistle had been a shoulder to cry on.

Then Thistle had been…a little more. And Carla would regret that until the day she died.

Because she loved Stanley. She loved him, she loved him, she'd loved him since she was fifteen and she'd love him until the day she died. And she'd never thought of herself as someone capable of leaving her lover in favor of another.

But there was something so…otherworldly about Thistle that drew you to him. That made you feel like his gaze held you better than anything else could, and you just wanted to follow him, and…

She snapped herself out of her train of thought. She despised Thistle, despised him for what he'd done. She loved Stanley, loved him for who he was and what they'd been through. Nothing could change that, not even wickedly charming hippies with beat up guitars.

But that night…

Carla had been wiping her eyes, lifting her head from Thistle's shoulder. They were the only two in the diner, since Carla was in charge of locking up that night.

"Thanks for listening, Thistle…I just…" She'd sighed. "Stan and I are just going through a rough patch, you know? I think some of my trust in him got…broken back in Colombia, and I'm having a bit of a hard time putting it back together. I'm just hurt, you know?"

"I understand completely, flower-girl. Once a soul gets hurt, it takes a while to heal."

Carla had chuckled. "That was deep."

They'd just smiled at each other after that. Smiled and stared and before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers. Or were her lips on his? Oh God, who had initiated it?

They made out for what felt like forever before Carla pulled away with a gasp, though it felt less like coming up for air and more like being thrown into the deep end.

"I-I can't! I can't do this, no!" She was already standing, walking to the door. "I'm going home to Stanley, we need to talk stuff out, we need to—"

"Carla~"

She froze. Thistle's beckoning voice sounded much more like he was singing than anything else, and Carla's head felt fuzzy. If the inside of her mind had a visual to go with it, it would've been T.V. static.

"Flower-girl, don't go…stay with me…"

She'd turned, slowly.

"Thistle, I can't…"

"You know you want to…."

"i…I…." The tension in her chest unraveled. "Yes, I do…"

The words came unbidden, and they didn't feel like hers.

She walked back over and closed the space between them.

Back at home, Stanley was worrying over how late it was, and how she wasn't back.

This never even crossed her mind.

When she got back home, Stanley was sitting in his chair, staring dead-eyed at the T.V.

"Honey, I'm home!" Carla called out in her best impression of a stereotypical sitcom husband. Stanley turned to her, and his face lit up.

"Carla! Baby, I was wondering when you'd get home. Listen, I…I've been thinkin' about what you said last night."

"What…thing that I said, exactly?"

"About us still being able to work on the portal. Y'know, your pep talk."

"Oh! Okay, what about it?"

"I…I really took it to heart, y'know? I walked around town about ten times—"

"Woah!"

"I know, right? I walked and walked and thought, and…who needs a crummy journal? I got my brain, I got a wrench, and I got you." He declared proudly, grin spreading across his face. Carla couldn't keep a smile off her face at the sight, though hers wasn't as wide.

"Hey, Carla, is everything alright? You look a little…shook up."

"What, me? Pfft, I'm fine. Nothing's wrong!" She forced her grin wider, hoping it didn't look fake. Stan smiled back.

"That's good, doll…wanna watch Grandpa the Kid? It's about to come on!"

"The answer to that question will always be yes."

She was going to tell him Thistle was in town. She'd resolved to before she walked in the door, but…his spirits were up after a huge blow. She didn't need to dampen his spirits with another problem right now.

She could tell him later. For now? It was just the two of them, and Grandpa the Kid.


	19. A Nighttime Guest

It was nearly three a.m. when Stanley was awoken by something underneath his bedroom window. He blinked his bleary eyes at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Was he really hearing…guitar music? He cast a confused glance at his girlfriend; Carla was sound asleep next to him, her sleeping face sweet and peaceful in the moonlight. And unnaturally pink due to the window's stained glass.

Stanley clumsily swung his legs out of bed, groping for his bedside table in the darkness to pull himself up. He stumbled to the window, trying not to trip over the various objects he'd meant to pick up but never got around to. Undoing the latch, he swung the window open and peered outside.

He should've grabbed his glasses when getting up, because the darkness outside combined with his progressively worsening near-sightedness rendered him practically blind. All he could make out was a very blurry figure on the ground below, strumming a guitar and singing softly.

"This guy's gotta be freaking kidding." Stanley whispered incredulously. What the hell was this guy doing singing outside his house at three in the morning? His bedroom was on the second floor, so he could barely make out what the guy was singing. He only caught a few words.

"…in your heart…"

"…mind…"

"…belong to me…"

Behind him, Stanley heard a shuffling on the bed. He turned behind him to see Carla shifting uncomfortably under the sheets, hugging her pillow with an upset look on her face. He turned back to look out the window with an angry look on his face.

"Hey! Bucko! I dunno why the hell you're at my house, but go home!" He whisper-shouted, not wanting to disturb Carla from sleep any further.

The music got louder.

Stanley felt his face heat up. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me…"

"If you don't drag your ass home right now I'm calling the freaking cops!"

That was a lie. It would take someone decapitating one of his loved ones to make Stan Pines call the police.

The music continued.

"I'm giving you to the count of three, jackass! One, two, thr—"

"Stanley, what's going on?"

Stan jumped nearly a foot in the air at the soft voice behind him. He spun around and saw a very sleepy looking Carla sitting at the edge of the bed. Her messy bedhead curls were resting adorably on her face, and he would've walked over to brush them away and kiss her if it weren't for the current confusing situation.

"It's nothing, baby. Just some creep deciding to show off his vocal prowess in the middle of the freakin' night. Go back to sleep, I can handle it."

He squinted pointedly at his baseball bat propped up in the corner. He looked back at Carla, and felt his chest tighten instantly in concern; even in the dark, without his glasses, he could see that something was _wrong._

"Carla-baby? Everything okay?"

"I…lemme see." She rose from the bed and crossed over to the window purposefully. She placed her fingertips on the windowsill and peered out with a worried expression. Almost instantly she drew back with wide eyes, slammed the window, and latched the window.

"Who is it, Carla?"

"Do we have earplugs?"

"W-What?"

"Do we have earplugs? You know, to plug your ears with?"

"I…think there are some in the bathroom, maybe. Carla, what's wrong? Are you shaking?"

Carla looked haunted. Carla looked hunted. She set her mouth in a firm, thin line.

"I'm _fine._ I just…want some damn earplugs."

With that, she strode from the room with her hands balled into fists at her sides, leaving Stanley standing in their dark bedroom with a confused and concerned look on his face.

How had he found her address? _How had he found her address?_ She hadn't told him anything! She and Stanley lived in the woods, away from everyone else? Why had he even thought to look out here?

Carla's train of thought was going a million miles an hour as she angrily rummaged through the bathroom cabinets. She knocked a tube of lipstick out of one accidentally, but she paid it no attention as it clattered to the floor. Her fingers closed around a box, and she pulled it out with a triumphant "aha!" Ripping it open, she grabbed two earplugs out of it and strode back to her and Stanley's bedroom.

Thistle was still singing outside, and Carla's stomach turned. His singing did something to her; something strong in her chest was telling her to walk outside and join him, but she was not doing that again. She was _never_ doing that again.

Her head was beginning to feel fuzzy and she plopped back down onto her and Stanley's bed, where Stanley was already sitting with a worried expression.

"Carla? I'm serious, is everything okay?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. I just…don't like that guy's voice, and I wanna sleep."

Stanley visibly relaxed a little at that.

"Yeah, he is a pretty nasally…though I can't sing either, of course."

"I think you have a beautiful singing voice, Lee."

"I once set off a car alarm, Carla."

"The car was cheering for you!"

Stanley chuckled and pulled her close to him and she pulled the covers back on over both of them. She inserted the earplugs carefully, not wanting to damage her ears, and settled against Stanley's chest.

Surprisingly, it wasn't too long until Stanley's breathing became slow and even. Carla supposed he was just too fatigued to let even hippie music keep him awake. Strangely enough, Carla kind of wished she could hear him snoring. It would be a comfort at the moment.

Her eyes remained wide open while her boyfriend slept; she wouldn't take them off the window. Though she couldn't hear him anymore, she knew he was out there.

She knew he was waiting.


	20. Paranoia Growing

When Stanley woke up the next morning, Carla was already downstairs. From the sound of pots and pans clanging together, she was attempting to make breakfast.

He sighed sleepily but contentedly and buried himself further in the covers. His first moments of consciousness every morning were the rare moments where he forgot, for a second, that he'd pushed his twin into a portal to God knows where. He tried to savor these moments.

He closed his eyes and listened to the much more awake woman downstairs. He could hear her singing from the kitchen; she was belting out something cheery, something he recognized as being from The Jungle Book. They'd been seventeen when that movie came out, and they'd watched it loads of times; it was one of their favorites. Carla really did have a beautiful singing voice, though she rarely sang in front of anyone other than close friends. She claimed that she'd had a bad experience in church choir as a child. Dancing in front of people, however? She would probably pay you to let her. He smiled. His girlfriend was such a sweetheart. Such an angel. Such a—

The smoke detector screaming loudly from the kitchen interrupted his train of thought. He groaned and shut his eyes tighter, throwing a pillow over his face. He heard a frantic "Sorry!" from downstairs, and sighed.

In Carla's defense, they did have a really crappy stove.

It was quiet at the table as Carla chewed pensively on her burnt bacon, and Stan quietly nursed a cup of coffee. Carla nodded to herself before making a face at her plate.

"Well…it's definitely crunchy. I got that part right."

Stanley reached out and grabbed a piece, popping it in his mouth. He inhaled sharply through his nose, made a similar face, and nodded.

"Yeah, uh…yep. It is…that."

"We need a new stove."

"God, those cost an arm and a leg…"

"It'll cost us more in the long run if we put it off."

"Meh."

Stan ignored his girlfriend's logic, putting it off for later time. He drummed his fingers on the table nervously, before finally voicing what he'd been wanting to all morning.

"So, uh…who was that at the window last night?"

Carla's eyes widened owlishly at him, and she blinked.

"I'm…sorry?"

"The moron outside our bedroom at about three in the morning. You catch a look of his face?"

"Ah, no, didn't know who he was…"

"Oh. ….it's just that you seemed kinda—"

The kitchen phone rang, interrupting Stan's prying.

"I got it!" Carla bolted from her chair quick enough to tip it over, sending it to the floor with a startlingly loud clatter. She grabbed the phone from the counter and began playing with the spiral chord coming from it. Stan watched her with a concerned expression.

"…hello? O-Oh, no thank you, I'm not interested in buying any…"moon gloves"…what does one even do with those? Anti-gravity hand stands?"

Stan chuckled in spite of himself.

"Yeah…n-no thank you. G'bye."

She hung up the phone, looking almost relieved. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"You expecting someone?"

"Hm? Oh, no. No one at all." Carla slid back into the seat across from him, returning to her breakfast. She popped another piece of bacon in her mouth.

"…yep. Still burnt."

The silvers and grays of Ford's lab underground were never welcoming. They evoked no sense of home, no sense of the person Stan knew built it. It wasn't like upstairs, where Ford was etched into every piece of furniture, every book, every picture on the walls. Upstairs looked like a part of Ford, waiting for him to return. Downstairs looked like a scene from some sci-fi horror movie.

Stan honestly didn't know which was worse.

He wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, and sighed. During the power surge that took Ford away from him, the wires underneath the main control panel had been frayed. Progress on them wasn't going badly, but it certainly wasn't going…quickly. God, he was gonna be an old man by the time he got his brother back at this rate…He stared up at the giant metal monstrosity towering over him. To him, the portal wasn't even a piece of machinery anymore; it was the gaping mouth of the beast that had swallowed Stanford up.

He rose to his feet, wiping his hands off on his pants. He needed to look at the journal again…

Except that it wasn't on the control panel. Panic instantly seized his chest.

He'd put it on the control panel the last time he'd been down here, hadn't he? Put it right smack dab in the middle so he would remember where it was. But now it wasn't there.

He instantly shoved the desk chair away from the panel and dropped back down to his knees, scouring the area underneath. Had it fallen? Had he knocked it off? Had Carla knocked-?

Carla. She was the only other person who even knew about this place. She probably knew where it was!

 _It's okay, Stan. Calm down, calm down, it isn't missing. Carla knows where it is!_

He darted to the elevator and mashed the button for the ground floor far harder than he meant to. As soon as the doors slid open on floor one, he was stumbling through the gift shop to the living quarters.

"Carla? Carla!" He shouted louder than he meant to as he came running into the living room. Carla jumped a little from where she was dusting one of the house's many bookshelves.

"H-Hey, babe, what's up?"

"The journal! It isn't in the basement, do you know where it is?"

"The—OH." Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Honey, I am so sorry! I totally forgot to tell you I brought it upstairs!"

The sigh of relief that left Stan was huge.

"It's fine, doll…just needed to make sure it wasn't missing."

"No, of course not! It's in our room. I can go get it for—"

"No, I got it, it's fine." He'd already begun climbing the stairs. He was antsy to have it in his hands after that scare. He really ought to make copies…

Sure enough, the journal was resting on the bedside table next to Carla's side of the bed, lying face down and open. He picked the leather-bound book up, smiling.

His smile faded a little when he saw what it was open to. In big, bold letters across the top of the page, was one word: **SIRENS.**

All over the page were little notes: Seduce the objects of their affections with music; note, the object of affection must first be at least marginally attracted to them for it to work. Often emulate popular kinds of musicians. Travel in packs. Some of the notes were highlighted in pink. Stanley had read the page several times before, and he was sure there hadn't been pink highlighter before.

With a frown, he closed the journal.


End file.
